He returned to the place where Booth and his gang had left the road. The tracks were still there to verify the outlaws had set out to circle around a low mesa south of the town, but he was afraid the tracks might disappear if it continued to rain. Once past the long mesa, he could see the buildings in town in the distance, and he found some tracks that led back to the north. He continued in that direction, even though tracks were harder to find. It promised to be harder to track them once they returned to the road, which he expected to strike before long. To his surprise, he came back to the river without crossing the wagon road. The road had evidently ended at Choteau and that meant there were probably no farms or homesteaders of any kind west of the town. He reined Rascal to a stop beside the river while he tried to determine if he had overrun the gang’s trail. While there was no longer a road, there was a narrow path that followed the winding river, that now looked more like a creek, toward the mountains that suddenly seemed closer. Looking in the opposite direction, he could see that the path led toward town and was most likely the path the strangers Flo Pierce told him about had used to come to town. That thought caused him to again consider the possibility the strangers she talked about and the gang he was tracking were one and the same.

He climbed down out of the saddle and began walking along the river path, leading his horse. He had walked about fifteen yards before he discovered the first tracks he’d seen since rounding the foot of the mesa, so he knew he was still on their trail. He climbed back on Rascal and continued to follow the path into the foothills. A few minutes more and the rain tapered off and the sun began to peek through holes in the clouds above him. When the rain stopped completely, he decided he’d waited long enough for his breakfast. So, when he came to a little grassy clearing between the willow trees, he dismounted and let his horse drink while he searched for some usable firewood. When he found enough for his fire, he got a small canvas bag from his saddle. The bag contained nothing more than dry grass and leaves to make starting a fire easier when his firewood was wet. Using it as his kindling, he soon had a healthy fire going, and his ever-necessary coffee boiling. Some deer tracks at the edge of the river told him that a small herd had crossed there that morning. It was enough to remind him that he was going to have to do some hunting before very much longer. But for now, he would settle for bacon and hardtack.