At length he saw a horse rise above a ridge, and he knew it to be Lassiter's black.

Climbing to the highest rock, so that he would show against the sky-line, he stood and waved his hat.

The almost instant turning of Lassiter's horse attested to the quickness of that rider's eye.

Then Venters climbed down, saddled his horse, tied on his pack, and, with a word to his dogs, was about to ride out to meet Lassiter, when he concluded to wait for him there, on higher ground, where the outlook was commanding.
It had been long since Venters had experienced friendly greeting from a man.

Lassiter's warmed in him something that had grown cold from neglect.