He did not credit Bill Holmes with anything
stronger than a weak-souled treachery. Ramon, he told himself while he made
his way down the arroyo side, was at least working out a clever scheme of his
own, and it rested with Luck and his posse to see that Ramon was cheated of
success.
So deeply was he engrossed that before he realized it he was down where they
had left Applehead's party. There was no sign of them anywhere, so Luck went
down and mounted his horse and led the way down the arroyo.
Already the heat was lessening and the land was taking on those translucent
opal tints which make of New Mexico a land of enchantment. The far hills
enveloped themselves in a faint, purplish haze through which they seemed to
blush unwittingly. The mesa, no longer showing itself an and waste of heat and
untracked wilderness, lay soft under a thin veil of many ethereal tints. Away
off to the northeast they heard the thin, vague clamor of a band of sheep and
the staccato barking of a dog.
Luck rode for some distance, his uneasiness growing as the shadows deepened
with the setting of the sun. They had gone too far to hear any whistled
signal, but it seemed to him reasonable to suppose that Applehead would return
to their starting point, whether he found the trail or not; or at least send a
man back.
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