dles, and the cavalcade headed for Fort Laramie, on the other side of the mountain spur which bears the latter half of that name.
From the saddle, Alden Payne scrutinized the country to the north, the west and the south. He was searching for the company with which his enemy Ross Brandley was traveling. His one regret was that the antelope hunt had lessened the probability of meeting that combative young man. Like many a mistaken youth, Alden was sure he could not be happy until he had evened up matters between them.
“He nearly knocked me over in the first place,” reflected the youth for the hundredth time, “and when I protested, he insulted me, put up his fists, and got in a blow. What roils me,” added Alden to himself, with a flash of the eye and a compression of the lips, “is that he must have taken my politeness last night for fear of him. If I had only known who he was, I should have said something that would have made his cheeks tingle. It will be strange if we miss each other, for we are both anxious to meet, and, after all, there can’t be so very many miles between us.”
Far ahead towered the Laramie range, the
