A
ten-hour ride by night meant worn-out horses, but the men were iron,
and new horses with scarcely a minute's delay were brought them. Here
were the newly killed beeves, there the mighty footprints with the
scars that spelled his name. No hound could have tracked him better
than Kellyan did. Five miles away from the foot of the hills was an
impenetrable thicket of chaparral. The great tracks went in, did not
come out, so Bonamy sat sentinel while Kellyan rode back with the
news. "Saddle up the best we got!" was the order. Rifles were taken
down and cartridge-belts being swung when Kellyan called a halt.
"Say, boys, we've got him safe enough. He won't try to leave the
chaparral till night. If we shoot him we get the cattlemen's bounty;
if we take him alive--an' it's easy in the open--we get the newspaper
bounty, ten times as big. Let's leave all guns behind; lariats are
enough."
"Why not have the guns along to be handy?"
"'Cause I know the crowd too well; they couldn't resist the chance to
let him have it; so no guns at all. It's ten to one on the riata."
Nevertheless three of them brought their heavy revolvers. Seven
gallant riders on seven fine horses, they rode out that day to meet
the Monarch of the Range. He was still in the thicket, for it was yet
morning. They threw stones in and shouted to drive him out, without
effect, till the noon breeze of the plains arose--the down-current of
air from the hills.
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