"Good-bye," she whispered. "I won't forget you," and the next moment
she stepped out to join the waiting half-breed, who with a glance of
approval at her costume, took the bag from her hand and proceeded to
secure it behind the cantle. The girl mounted without assistance, and
snubbing the lead-rope of the pack-horse about the horn of his saddle,
the half-breed led off into the night.
Hour after hour they rode in silence, following a trail that wound in
easy curves about the bases of hillocks and small buttes, and dipped
and slanted down the precipitous sides of deep coulees where the
horses' feet splashed loudly in the shallow waters of fords. As the
moon dipped lower and lower, they rode past the darkened buildings of
ranches nestled beside the creeks, and once they passed a band of sheep
camped near the trail. The moonlight showed a sea of grey, woolly
backs, and on a near-by knoll stood a white-covered camp-wagon, with a
tiny lantern burning at the end of the tongue. A pair of hobbled
horses left off snipping grass beside the trail and gazed with mild
interest as the two passed, and beneath the wagon a dog barked. At
length, just as the moon sank from sight behind the long spur of Tiger
Butte, the trail slanted into a wide coulee from the bottom of which
sounded the tinkle of running water.
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