If they recognized
him as a ranger comrade of Ladd and Lash, if they got a glimpse
of Blanco Sol, then Gale would have no chance.
These Mexicans had evidently been at the well some time. Their
horses being in the corral meant that grazing had been done by
day. Gale revolved questions in mind. Had this trio of outlaws
run across Ladd? It was not likely, for in that event they might
not have been so comfortable and care-free in camp. Were they
waiting for more members of their gang? That was very probable.
With Gale, however, the most important consideration was how
to get his horse to water. Sol must have a drink if it cost a fight.
There was stern reason for Gale to hurry eastward along the trail.
He thought it best to go back to where he had left his horse and
not make any decisive move until daylight.
With the same noiseless care he had exercised in the advance, Gale
retreated until it was safe for him to rise and walk on down the
arroyo. He found Blanco Sol contentedly grazing. A heavy dew
was falling, and, as the grass was abundant, the horse did not
show the usual restlessness and distress after a dry and exhausting day.
Gale carried his saddle blankets and bags into the lee of a little
greasewood-covered mound, from around which the wind had
cut the soil, and here, in a wash, he risked building a small fire.
By this time the wind was piercingly cold. Gale's hands were numb
and he moved them to and fro in the little blaze.
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