It set me thinking of Madge and of our
talk the evening before, and of what a change twenty-four hours
had brought. It was lucky I was riding an Indian pony, or I should
probably have landed in a heap. I don't know that I should have cared
particularly if a prairie-dog burrow had made me dash my brains out,
for I wasn't happy over the job that lay before me.
We watered at Silver Spring at quarter-past twelve. From that point we
were clear of the pines and out on the plain, so we could go a better
pace. This brought us to the half-way ranch by two, where we gave the
ponies a feed and an hour's rest. We reached the last relay station
just as the moon set, about three-forty; and, as all the rest of the
ride was through coconino forest, we held up there for daylight,
getting a little sleep meanwhile.
We rode into the camp at the Grand Canon a little after eight, and the
deserted look of the tents gave me a moment's fright, for I feared
that the party had gone. Tolfree explained, however, that some had
ridden out to Moran Point, and the rest had gone down Hance's trail.
So I breakfasted and then took a look at Albert Cullen's Winchester.
That it had been recently fired was as plain as the Grand Canon
itself; throwing back the bar, I found an empty cartridge shell still
oily from the discharge. That completed the tale of seven shots. I
didn't feel absolutely safe till I had asked Tolfree if there had been
any shooting of echoes by the party, but his denial rounded out my
chain of evidence.
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