For a little time he traveled at a brisk pace and then he halted to breathe Mustard.

Throwing one leg over the pommel, he turned half way around in the saddle and swept the plains with a casual glance.
He sat erect instantly, focusing his gaze upon a speck that loomed through a dust cloud some miles distant.

For a time he watched the speck, his eyes narrowing.

Finally he made out the speck to be a man on a pony.
"He's a-fannin' it some," he observed, shading his eyes with his hands; "hittin' up the breeze for fair." He meditated long, a critical smile reaching his lips.
"It's right warm to-day.

Not just the kind of an atmosphere that a man ought to be runnin' his horse reckless in." He meditated again.
"How far would you say he's off, Mustard?
Ten miles, I reckon you'd say if you was a knowin' horse." The horseman had reached a slight ridge and for a moment he appeared on the crest of it, racing his pony toward the river.