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thing of their dispositions and manner。
One man rarely smoked more than half a cigarette。 He occasionally took only a few nervous puffs； then dropped it。 Another wore large…roweled Mexican…style spurs that left an imprint when he squatted on his heels。
After a week of such travel he rode into the street of Tokewanna。 It was a single dusty street with the usual clapboarded false…front buildings and several of adobe。 And a man loitering on the street took one quick； startled glance at the brand on his horse and ducked into a saloon。
Trace Jordan swung down from his horse and loose…tied him at the hitchrail。 Yet when he went into the saloon there was no sign of the man he sought。 Trace ordered a drink and looked around at the three men playing cards 。。。 another man leaned against the bar。 Trace Jordan glanced at his spurs。
〃How about a drink？〃
The man moved over as he spoke。 He was young； rugged…looking； a working cowhand。 When their glasses were filled he lifted his and looked at Trace Jordan。 〃Here's to you and the trail ahead。〃
They drank and Trace said quietly； 〃I may stick around for a while。〃
〃My advice；〃 the young man was smiling； 〃keep travelin'〃
The implication was obvious。 To the man in the street the JH brand on his horse had meant something and that had to mean the man knew about the killing of Johnny。 He either knew or had been one of the killers。 Obviously； in passing through the saloon he had said something to this man。 Trace was now being warned away and that implied the six had friends。
〃Had some horses stolen；〃 Jordan said。 〃My partner was murdered。 I trailed 'em here。〃
The young man was no longer smiling。 He took the last drop from his glass and stepped back from the bar。 〃Depends on how much country a man needs。〃
Jordan waited the explanation； his eyes missing nothing in the room。 The men at the table were alert and listening。
〃Six thousand miles out there；〃 the man said； 〃or six feet here。〃
The harshness of the trail had drawn him fine。 He turned from the bar； a big tough lonely man suddenly showing all the danger that was in him。 The young man took a step back； suddenly wary。
〃I already bought chips；〃 Jordan said。 〃They dealt the hand。〃
He turned from the bar and went through the door and then he saw the big old man ing up the street on the steeldust。 Trace had gentled that steeldust himself。 He had taken time with the horse。 Next to the big red horse he rode； it had been the best of the lot。
The old man had a shock of white hair。 His eyes were fierce and manding。 When he stepped down from the saddle there was something of the thing in his manner。
Trace Jordan stepped down from the walk and started across the street toward the old man； a tall man with an easy woodsman's walk and the knowledge that he was heading right into trouble。 Down the street a man stopped 。。。 another appeared in the entrance to the store。
The brand on the steeldust had been worked over and an excellent job。 The JH had been turned into an SB。
The old man looked across the saddle at him； a strong old man with fierce unrelenting eyes。 〃What's the matter？ Lookin' for something？〃
Remembering Johnny lying in the dried mud beside the water…hole； Trace told him： 〃I'm looking for the man who stole that horse from me。 He's mine。 I caught him。 I broke him。 I branded him JH …〃
Quick temper flared in the hard old eyes。 〃You callin' me a horse thief？〃 He stepped around the horse to face Jordan。 He was wearing a tied…down gun。
〃I'm only saying that's my horse you're riding。 He's a stolen horse。〃
〃You're a dirty liar！〃
When the old man's hand dropped to his gun； Trace Jordan shot him through the stomach。
Jordan looked over the smoking gun at two bystanders。 〃Walk out there and lift that saddle skirt； both of you。〃 When they started walking he said； 〃If there isn't a four…inch white scar under the saddle skirt； find a bar。〃 The scar was there 。。。
〃No matter；〃 one of the men told him； 〃maybe this is your horse but that old man was no thief。 You'd better ride before they hang you。〃
There was an instant then when Trace Jordan looked down into the dying man's eyes。 〃That was my horse；〃 he repeated。 〃My partner was murdered when he was stolen。〃
All time seemed to stop while the old man struggled to speak but blood frothed at his lips and he died。 But of one thing Jordan was sure。 The old man had believed him。
From up the street a yell； 〃He's downed Bob Sutton！ He's shot Bob！〃 And the doors vomited men into the street。 Trace Jordan hit the leather running and took the big red horse out of town at a dead run。 Behind him guns talked but no bullet hit him。
And now he was here； high on a sunlit mesa； dying in the saddle。 There was nothing to see but distance； nothing but an infinity of far blue hills and nameless mysterious canyons。 The mustang stopped suddenly； head up。 Jordan turned painfully； searching all around； and in all that vast emptiness there was no living thing to be seen but a solitary buzzard。 Heat waves shimmered the outlines of the junipers but nowhere was there movement； nor any sign of life 。。。 and then he saw the tracks。
The tracks of a pack rat in the dust and the tracks of a deer。
They led to the cliff edge and disappeared there。 Why did that seem important？ His mind fumbled at the puzzle but the mustang tugged impatiently at the bit and Jordan gave the horse his head。 The mountain…bred horse swung at once to the cliff…edge and； reaching it； stopped。
Below him was an eyebrow of trail that clung to the cliff face。 To this trail led the tracks。 Jordan tried to focus his thoughts on the trail。 The tracks of a pack rat alone would mean nothing； yet the deer tracks on the same trail could mean water。 And the smell of water would have stopped the horse； for the animal must be half…dead with thirst。
Despite his condition he realized at once the possibilities of such a place。 His horse； bred to wild country and only a few weeks away from running wild； might take that trail。 A wrong step could send them plunging a thousand feet or more to the bottom； yet those tracks might lead to water and a deer had negotiated the trail。 And what had he to lose？ Going on was impossible 。。。 he spoke to the horse。
Momentarily； ears pricked； the horse hung back； but the urging of the rider and his own promptings decided the matter。 The inside stirrup scraped hard on the canyon wall and the outer hung in space but the mustang； walking on delicate feet； went on down the trail； no more than an edge of sloping rock stratum； to a place some forty yards along where the trail widened to ten feet。 Here Jordan swung from the saddle and； trailing his reins； he went back up the trail on hands and knees； unable to risk walking in his weakness。
With a handful of bunch grass he brushed out the tracks leading to the cliff…edge and then； taking a handful of dust； he let it trickle from his hand and； caught by the wind； spray over the ground； leaving the earth apparently undisturbed。 Then he edged back down the trail and climbed to the saddle。
Concealed from above by the overhang of the cliff； the trail became increasingly dangerous。 At one point there was only slanting rock but