He had never gone so far as the gate, but, knowing
where the trail led into a split in the crags, he climbed the slope, and
threaded a way over masses of fallen cliff, until he reached the base of
the wall. The tracks of the wildhorse band were very fresh and plain in
the yellow trail. Four stout posts guarded the opening, and a number of
bars lay ready to be pushed into place. He put them up, making a gate
ten feet high, an impregnable barrier. This done, he hurried back to
camp.
"Jack, Bolly will need more watching to-day than the sheep, unless I let
her loose. Why, she pulls and strains so she'll break that halter."
"She wants to go with the band; isn't that it?"
"I don't like to think so. But Father Naab doesn't trust Bolly, though
she's the best mustang he ever broke."
"Better keep her in," replied Jack, remembering Naab's warning. "I'll
hobble her, so if she does break loose she can't go far."
When Mescal and Jack drove in the sheep that afternoon, rather earlier
than usual, Piute had returned with August Naab, Dave, and Billy, a
string of mustangs and a pack-train of burros.
"Hello, Mescal," cheerily called August, as they came into camp.
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