Upon reaching
him Venters removed the saddle and bridle. Black Star had been
killed on his legs, Venters thought. He had no hope for the
stricken horse. Black Star lay flat, covered with bloody froth,
mouth wide, tongue hanging, eyes glaring, and all his beautiful
body in convulsions.
Unable to stay there to see Jane's favorite racer die, Venters
hurried up the trail to meet the other black. On the way he kept
a sharp lookout for Jerry Card. Venters imagined the rider would
keep well out of range of the rifle, but, as he would be lost on
the sage without a horse, not improbably he would linger in the
vicinity on the chance of getting back one of the blacks. Night
soon came trotting up, hot and wet and run out. Venters led him
down near the others, and unsaddling him, let him loose to rest.
Night wearily lay down in the dust and rolled, proving himself
not yet spent.
Then Venters sat down to rest and think. Whatever the risk, he
was compelled to stay where he was, or comparatively near, for
the night. The horses must rest and drink. He must find water. He
was now seventy miles from Cottonwoods, and, he believed, close
to the canyon where the cattle trail must surely turn off and go
down into the Pass. After a while he rose to survey the valley.
He was very near to the ragged edge of a deep canyon into which
the trail turned. The ground lay in uneven ridges divided by
washes, and these sloped into the canyon.
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