My side
don't show a hoof track from where we left the boys down below."
"Mine either," Luck replied, by the power of suggestion seating himself and
reaching for his own tobacco and papers. "We might as well work back down and
connect with Applehead. Wish there was some sign of water in this darn gulch.
By the time we get down where we started from, it'll be sundown." He glanced
down at Bud and Pink. "Hey! You can start back any, time," he called. "Nothing
up this way."
"Here's the grandfather of all rattlers," Miguel called across to Luck, and
held up by the tail a great snake that had not ceased its muscular writhings.
"Twelve rattles and a button. Have I got time to skin him? He tried to bite me
on the leg--but I beard him and got outa reach."
"We've got to be moving," Luck answered. "It's a long ways back where we
started from, and we've got to locate water, if we can." He rose with the
deliberateness that indicated tired muscles, and started back; and to himself
be muttered exasperatedly: "A good three hours all shot to pieces--and not a
mile gained on that bunch!"
The Native Son, calmly pinching the rattles of the snake he had not time to
skin, climbed down into the Canon and took his horse by the bridle reins.
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