CHAPTER III

THE NIGHT RIDE Hugh McClintock drew his horse to a walk and skirted the base of a hill. He patted the shiny neck of the bay affectionately. The boy loved the mounts he rode. His life depended on their stamina and speed, and they had never failed him. “Good old Nevada Jim,” he whispered. “We got a long trail before us through these red devils, but I reckon we’re good for it, me ’n you.” He was swinging well to the south of the Silver Mountains, riding through country covered with brush. He had been travelling at a r…