He untied his horse, sprang into the saddle and set out for the ranch.
His horse had had a good rest and was full of running, especially as his
face was turned homeward. But, despite his own impatience, Bert subdued
his mount to a trot that he could keep up indefinitely, and gave himself
up to reviewing the stirring scenes from which he had just emerged.
He was passing through a patch of woodland, from which a deep gully
diverged to the right, when he heard the whinny of a horse. Instantly he
clapped his hand over the nostrils of his own mount to keep him from
answering. Then he slid to the ground, tied a rope around his horse's
jaws to keep him quiet and secured him to a tree. On hands and knees he
crept forward through the underbrush in the direction of the sound. He
reached the bank of the gully and peered over.
A little brook ran over the stones at the bottom of the gulch. Stooping
over it was a man with his back toward him. A horse was picketed near by,
contentedly munching the grass that grew thick and lush on the border of
the stream. The man's right arm was bared to the elbow, and he was
dashing water on a wound just above the wrist.
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