But it would not have mattered greatly if he had heard, for this was a point quite thoroughly understood by them both.
The Warfield car went on, lurching over the inequalities of the narrow road.

Al shook his horse into a shambling trot, picking his way carelessly through the scattered sage.
His horse traveled easily, now and then lifting a foot high to avoid rock or exposed root, or swerving sharply around obstacles too high to step over.

Al very seldom traveled along the beaten trails, though there was nothing to deter him now save an inherent tendency toward secretiveness of his motives, destinations and whereabouts.

If the country was open, you would see Al Woodruff riding at some distance from the trail--or you would not see him at all, if there were gullies in which he could conceal himself.

He was always "line-riding," or hunting stray stock--horses, usually--or striking across to some line-camp of the Sawtooth, on business which he was perfectly willing to state.
But you will long ago have guessed that he was the evil eye of the Sawtooth Company.