They wound up a rising valley, entering from it a canon with precipitous
walls that shut out the late sun. It was by this time past eleven
o'clock and dusk was gathering closer. The winding trail ran parallel
with the creek, sometimes through thickets of young fir and sometimes
across boulder beds that made traveling difficult and slow. They went in
single file, each of them with a swarm of mosquitoes about his head.
Macy had released the hands of his prisoner so that he might have a
chance to fight the singing pests, but he kept a wary eye upon him and
never let him move more than a few feet from him. The trail grew steeper
as it neared the head of the canon till at last it climbed the left wall
and emerged from the gulch to an uneven mesa.
The leader of the party looked at his watch. "Past midnight. We'll camp
here, George, and see if we can't get rid of the 'skeeters."
They built smudge fires of green wood and on the lee side of these
another one of dry sticks. Dud made coffee upon this and cooked bacon
to eat with the fresh bread they had taken from the oven of Holt. While
George chopped wood for the fires and boughs of small firs for bedding,
Big Bill sat with a rifle across his knees just back of the prisoner.
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