“Now, now, Mr. Tucket. You’re rattling on, and that won’t do at all. Mr. Groves, if I don’t come back by morning, my saddle, all those beaver pelts, and the ponies belong to the boy. I’d be happy if you’d make sure he gets them—not, of course, that anybody’d be foolish enough to try to take them away from him.”

“No!” Francis yelled.

“Also,” the mountain man continued, “would your train be going to Oregon?”

Mr. Groves nodded. “The Willamette Valley.”

“The boy’s got folks out there. You might take him with you—maybe make him work his way.”

“No! No!”

“I’ll do everything you ask,” the farmer answered. “I’ll hand deliver him, with his pelts, to his folks if you want. But I’d rather be riding out with you …”

“No-ah, Mr. Groves. It just takes one. Two, and they’d kill us both. One, and I might get close enough—by insulting Braid.”

“No!” Francis screamed again. “Even if you win, you lose. For what? There’s no reason to die. It’s done, Mr. Grimes—and done is done.”

“And now, Mr. Tucket.” The mountain man turned at last to Francis. “Before I go—and I don’t want you getting some kind of swelled head out of this—I’d like to say it’s been sort of fun having you around. Be seeing you …”

He wheeled his horse and started off, northeast, riding loose and fast.

“Mr. Grimes, come back!” Francis yelled after him. “Come back, come back, come back …”

But Footloose, without the saddle, gained speed rapidly and before Francis could think the mountain man had vanished in the dying evening light.

—— Chapter Twenty-two ——

FRANCIS RODE HARD.

It was a strange mount, but he now knew how to ride well enough to stay on almost any horse. This one was a big black—long legged and fresh. And stolen.

An hour after Mr. Grimes had gone, just after moonrise, Mr. Groves had made the mistake of not watching Francis closely. In a flash, he had run to the corral, thrown a war bridle on the black, and with nothing but his rifle, had left the camp.

The trail cut in the snow and lighted by the half moon was easy to follow. But the hour lead Mr. Grimes had on him worried Francis. Footloose had been tired, it was true, but without a saddle—and considering also that Footloose was a big horse—it was entirely possible that Mr. Grimes would catch up to the Pawnees before Francis could catch up to him.