Swan had learned something of these friends of the Sawtooth, and he could guess pretty accurately how far some of them would go in their service.

Fresh horses for Al, food--perhaps even a cabin where he could hide Lorraine away--were to be expected from any one of them, once Al was over the divide.
Swan glanced up at the sun, saw that it was dropping to late afternoon and started in at a long, loose-jointed trot across the mountain meadow called Skyline.

A few pines, with scattered clumps of juniper and fir, dotted the long, irregular stretch of grassland which formed the meadow.
Range cattle were feeding here and there, so wild they lifted heads to stare at the man and dog, then came trotting forward, their curiosity unabated by the fact that they had seen these two before.
Jack looked up at his master, looked at the cattle and took his place at Swan's heels.

Swan shouted and flung his arms, and the cattle ducked, turned and galloped awkwardly away.

Swan's trot did not slacken.