How those bullets had whistled and hissed!
"I'm pretty lucky," I muttered. "Now to get good and clear of this
vicinity. They'll ride down the trail after me. Better go over this ridge
into the next canyon and strike down that. I must go down. But how far?
What must I strike for?"
I took a long look at the canyon. In places the stream showed, also the
trail; then there were open patches, but I saw no horses or men. With a
grim certainty that I should be lost in a very little while, I turned into
the cool, dark forest.
Every stone and log, every bit of hard ground in my path, served to help
hide my trail. Herky-Jerky very likely had the cowboy's skill at finding
tracks, but I left few traces of my presence on that long slope. Only an
Indian or a hound could have trailed me. The timber was small and rough
brush grew everywhere. Presently I saw light ahead, and I came to an open
space. It was a wide swath in the forest. At once I recognized the path of
an avalanche. It sloped up clean and bare to the gray cliffs far above.
Below was a great mass of trees and rocks, all tangled in black splintered
ruin. I pushed on across the path, into the forest, and up and down the
hollows. The sun had gone down behind the mountain, and the shadows were
gathering when I came to another large canyon.
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