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Updated: May 5, 2025
"High time old Sucatash was fannin' in fer dogs," he said to himself. "The winter's done set in for sure." Fearing that he would miss the camp by keeping so high he headed his horse downward and finally reached the bottom of the cañon. Here the snow was deeper but the going was better.
Jokes, or what passed in that crew for them, flew thickly, growing more ribald and suggestive as the girl stood, indifferent, and looked about her. Then Sucatash strode between her and the group near the bar from which most of the noise emanated. He hitched his belt a bit and faced them truculently. "You-all had better shut up," he announced in a flat voice.
"What you all reckon that old horned toad is a-doin' here?" queried Dave, from the front seat. "Dry camp, and him only three mile from the house and not more'n five from the Spring." "Dunno," replied Sucatash. "Him bein' a prospector, that a way, most likely he ain't got the necessary sense to camp where a white man naturally would bog down."
In two days the drifts will be pilin' up on the divide and the trail on the other side, and in a coupla days more they'll be blockin' the cañon down this a way." Solange shrugged her shoulders. "We have food," she answered. "At any rate, I am going on. I have promised that I would meet Monsieur de Launay in this cañon. I cannot keep him waiting." Sucatash accepted her ultimatum without protest.
In the course of time he rode into Willow Spring, and, cautiously pushing his way into the cottonwoods and willows that marked the place, found everything there as he had arranged with Sucatash Wallace. There were few tracks of visitors among the signs left by cattle and an antelope, except the prints of one mounted man who had led two horses.
Sucatash was entirely ignorant of the fact that, among the rocky terraces of the cañon, Jim Banker camped, after having followed their trail as long as the light would allow him to do so. The prospector was up and on the move as soon as Sucatash.
"Better hit the high spots. There's a row back there, now." De Launay swung into the saddle. "See you at Shoestring, this side the Crater," he said, briefly. "Adios!" "So long," said Sucatash, indifferently. De Launay spurred the horse and took the middle of the road on a run. Sucatash looked after him reflectively. "That hombre can ride a whole lot," he remarked.
"And Snake Murphy: he used to keep the road house at the ford over the river, didn't he?" Once more Sucatash, fairly well informed on ancient history himself, eyed De Launay askance. "Which he might have. That's before my time, I reckon. I was just bein' weaned when Louisiana was run out of the country. My old man could tell you all about it. He's Carter Wallace, of the Lazy Y at Willow Spring."
There was also a bar up there and the drinks that were served over it were not of the soft variety. It seemed that Sucatash and Dave MacKay were known here and had the entrée to the inner circles. De Launay followed them trustfully.
The gaunt Sucatash murmured sadly: "Them pilgrims is sure smart on g'ography an' history." "An' sheep especially," said the one called Dave. "Ca ne fait rien!" said De Launay, pronouncing it almost like "sinferien" as he had heard the linguists of the A.
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