“That one didn’t say, ‘Cheer up!’” murmured Cheyenne.

When he had caught his breath he crawled out and into the narrow trail.  The shooting had ceased.  Evidently the men were riding.  Stepping round the shoulder of the next bend, he peered up toward the rim of the range.  A tiny figure appeared riding down the first long grade, and then another figure.  Turning, he saw his own horse quietly nipping at the grass in the crevices of the rocks along the trail.

He walked down to the horse slowly and caught him up.  Loosening his carbine from the scabbard, and deeming himself lucky to have it, after that wild ride down the mountain, he stepped back to the angle of the bend, rested the carbine against a rocky shoulder and dropped a shot in front of the first rider, who stopped suddenly and took to cover.

“That’ll hold ’em for a spell,” said Cheyenne, stepping back.  He mounted and rode on down the trail, eyeing the tracks of the horses that Little Jim was hazing toward the valley below.  Cheyenne shook his head.  “He’s done run off the whole dog-gone outfit!  There’s nothin’ stingy about that kid.”

Striking to the lower level, Cheyenne cut across country to his camp.  He found Bartley leaning comfortably back against a saddle, reading aloud, and opposite him sat Dorry, so intent upon the reading that she did not hear Cheyenne until he spoke.

“Evenin’, folks!  Seen anything of Jimmy?”

“Oh—­Cheyenne!  No, have you?” It was Dorothy who spoke, as Bartley closed the book and got to his feet.

“Was you lookin’ for Jimmy’s address in that there book?” queried Cheyenne, grinning broadly.

Dorothy flushed and glanced at Bartley, who immediately changed the subject by calling attention to Cheyenne’s hat.  Cheyenne also changed the subject by stating that Jimmy had recently ridden down the trail toward the ranch—­with some horses.

“Then you got your horses?” said Bartley.

“I reckon they’re over to the ranch about now.”

“Jimmy has been gone all day,” said Dorothy.  “Aunt Jane is terribly worried about him.”

“Jimmy and me took a little ride in the hills,” said Cheyenne casually.  “But you needn’t to tell Aunt Jane that Jimmy was with me.  It turned out all right.”

“I rode over to your camp to look for Jimmy,” said Dorothy, “but Mr. Bartley had not seen him.”

Cheyenne nodded and reined his horse round.

“Why, your shirt is almost ripped from your back!” said Bartley.

“My hoss shied, back yonder, and stepped off into the brush.  We kept on through the brush.  It was shorter.”

Dorothy mounted her horse, and, nodding farewell to Bartley, accompanied Cheyenne to the ranch.  When they were halfway there, Dorothy, who had been riding thoughtfully along, saying nothing, turned to her companion:  “Cheyenne, you had trouble up there.  You might at least tell me about it.”