They were out of their blankets at sunup, for Old Bill had a long ride ahead of him.

“Better let one of us make the trip,” suggested Slim.

“I’ll go,” replied the cattleman. “You boys hole up here. I don’t want you chasing around much until you’re all ready to ride into the Creeping Shadows and look for a job on the Box B.”

They all lent a hand in getting breakfast. Then Old Bill got his horse, swung into the saddle, and went off down the trail.

Chuck washed their few dishes while Slim got the camp in shape. When they had completed their tasks, they sat down and contemplated the bright freshness of the morning.

Chuck wiggled his toes gratefully as he looked at his badly worn boots.

“It’s going to be great to have at least a day to loaf and let my feet catch up with the rest of me. Hope Old Bill gets a good fit in boots.”

“Didn’t you give him your size?” asked Slim.

“Gosh, no. I forgot all about that.” Chuck’s face registered real dismay.

“If he gets the largest boots in the store they won’t be any too small,” chuckled Slim as he surveyed Chuck’s broad feet.

“I’ll have no insults cast at my underpinning,” roared the cowboy from the Circle Four, hurling a near-by stick at Slim.

Slim ducked with a grin as the stick whistled by.

“If you feel like throwing things, I’ll be on my way.”

“How come?”

“Don’t forget that I’ve got a horse.”

“But you’re not pulling out?” Chuck was genuinely startled, afraid that Slim had believed him serious when he had tossed the stick.

“I’m pulling out in about five minutes, but I’m only going to ride back up the trail and bring down the saddles we cached yesterday. It will save time when Old Bill returns.”

“You’re right. After the reception we got night before last I’m anxious to get into the Creeping Shadows country and see what it’s all about.”

Slim found Lightning nearby, grazing on a patch of grass that somehow had escaped the searing rays of the July sun. He vaulted onto the beautiful back and ran his fingers through the splendid mane. A queer sob choked his throat as he thought how near he had been to losing forever the horse which had become his companion.

“Let’s go, Lightning.” The voice was low but Lightning pricked up her ears and trotted briskly toward the camp.

Chuck stood up as they approached, openly admiring the beautiful sorrel.

“Tell you what, Slim. If you ever lose your horse again, come on over to the Circle Four. You’ll probably find that I’ve stolen her. Why, she’s the finest horse in the cow country.”

“Or any other country,” added Slim proudly. “We’ll amble. See you this afternoon for I’m going to take my time.”

“How about grub this noon?”

“I had enough at breakfast to last until supper.”

With a cheery wave to his companion, Slim gave Lightning her head and to the music of swiftly drumming hoofs, disappeared up the valley, heading back along the Sky High trail.

Slim soon brought Lightning down to an easy lope, a tireless pace that was capable of eating up the miles when on a day-long trail. But there was no need for even that much speed, and a few minutes later he pulled her down to a walk.

It was a glorious July morning such as only the Cajon country knows, with the air sweet and clean. As the trail mounted toward the crest, Slim turned to look toward the Creeping Shadows country. The air was clearer than on his first glimpse from the summit, and he could see the broad valley lying below the Three Soldiers.

Even at that distance it was clear that there were many open meadows and from what Slim knew of the country, they would be rich with the grass needed to make fat cattle. It seemed incredible that such a beautiful country was a land of lawlessness and violence where the life and wealth of a man like Adam Marks was in daily danger.

From a distance came the faint drumming of hoofs. Slim had no desire to be seen on the trail and he sent Lightning leaping behind the protection of a dense thicket. His rifle was in camp, but his revolver was in the holster at his side. With deft hands, he made sure that the gun was ready for instant use. Then he slipped off Lightning’s back and stepped up to the sorrel’s head, placing one hand gently over the nostrils. He couldn’t afford to have Lightning whinny as the other riders passed by.

A few seconds later two horsemen appeared down the trail. They had evidently been riding hard, but the grade steepened just below Slim and they brought their tired horses down to walk. The riders were dressed in conventional cowboy garb, Stetsons, blue shirts with a kerchief caught carelessly around the neck and well worn leather chaps. Each man carried sidearms and a rifle in the boot on his saddle. They were burned to a deep brown by days in the sun, but there was also a hardness about their features that was not reassuring to Slim. They looked like a couple of tough customers.

Slim could hear them talking and he listened intently to catch their words.

“How much further to the summit?” asked the shorter of the two.

“Must be all of ten miles,” was the reply. “I’m not sure; never been to the top before.”

“Seems kinda foolish to have to watch this trail, but the chief is sure plenty mad about the way Newt and Maxie handled this deal. Means there’s a couple of cowboys on the prod somewhere in the valley.”

“And probably plenty mad, what with one of them getting his horse shot out from under him and both of them having to hoof it down from the summit.”

“Kinda funny we didn’t run across them,” said the squat, heavy-set puncher.

“It’s all right with me that we didn’t,” growled his companion. “Look at the elbow Maxie’s got. He won’t be able to use it for a couple of months. If that slug had been a little deeper, Maxie could have kissed his arm goodbye.”

“All the same, it seems darned foolish ordering us up here to see that no one comes down the trail. The chief’s either getting ready to pull a big raid or he’s getting cold feet and is going to leave the valley.”

The voices were fainter as the riders went up the trail, but Slim listened eagerly to get the reply of the taller puncher.

“Don’t worry about the chief getting cold feet. He’s got all of the nerve in the world. In a little while, he’s going to be the cattle king of the Creeping Shadows.”

Slim smiled grimly. The “chief” would be cattle king only after he had disposed of Adam Marks and if there was anything Slim and Chuck could do to prevent it, that would never be accomplished.

A few rods further Slim came to the stream where they had rested and cached their saddles. He crossed the stream and went into the gulch where the saddles had been hidden. They were intact and after watering Lightning he swung his own onto Lightning’s back and cinched it firmly. Then he fastened Chuck’s broad saddle on behind his own.

The sun was well toward its zenith when he started leisurely down the trail. Riding astride the easy-gaited Lightning, the trip was in marked contrast to the painful journey of the day before when each step had been agony to their tired and swollen feet. The memory made his feet hurt and Slim shoved thoughts of the trail into the back of his mind.

Slim’s trip back down the trail was made at a most leisurely pace. There was no need to hurry, and aside from keeping an alert lookout for some chance rider coming up from the valley, he enjoyed every bit of it. It was mid afternoon when he swung off the trail and turned to the left to their own camp. When he reached the stream bank where they had passed the night every trace of their camp had vanished!