They did not really need the dog, for the hoofprints were easily followed for the greater part of the way.
They had gone perhaps four miles when Lone turned, resting a hand on the cantle of his saddle while he looked back at Swan.

"You see where he was headed for, don't yuh, Swan ?" he asked, his tone as friendly as though he was not under arrest as a murderer.

"If he didn't go to Whisper, I'll eat my hat." "You're the man to know," Swan retorted grimly.

And then, because Lone's horse had slowed in a long climb over a ridge, he came up even with a stirrup.

"Lone, I hate to do it.