CHAPTER XII.
THE FIRST DAY Mile after mile of the rough trail fell behind him, and still the pony shambled along at a loose trot or a swinging canter; the steep upgrades it took at a steady jog and where the slopes pitched sharply down, it wound among the rocks with a faultless sureness of foot.
Certainly the choice of Nash was well made.

An Eastern horse of blood over a level course could have covered the same distance in half the time, but it would have broken down after ten miles of that hard trail.
Dawn came while they wound over the crest of the range, and with the sun in their faces they took the downgrade.

It was well into the morning before Nash reached Logan.

He forced from his eye the contempt which all cattlemen feel for sheepherders.
"I s'pose you're here askin' after Bard ?" began Logan without the slightest prelude.
"Bard?
Who's he ?" Logan considered the other with a sardonic smile.
"Maybe you been ridin' all night jest for fun ?" "If you start usin' your tongue on me, Logan you'll wear out the snapper on it.

I'm on my way to the A Circle Y." "Listen; I'm all for old man Drew.