Dan Barry was fleeing. He started from Rickett, and nine chances
out of ten he was heading, eventually, towards those practically
impenetrable mountain ranges where the sheriff before had lost the trail
after the escape from the cabin and the killing of Mat Henshaw. Towards
this same region, again, he had retreated after the notorious Killing at
Alder. There was no doubt, then, humanly speaking, that he would make for
the same safe refuge.
At first glance this seemed quite improbable, to be sure, for the Morgan
Hills lay due east, or very nearly east, while the place from which Barry
must have sallied forth and to which be would return was somewhere well
north of west, and a good forty miles away. It seemed strange that he
should strike off in the opposite direction, so Billy closed his eyes,
leaned back in his chair, and summoned up a picture of the country.
Five miles to the east the Morgan Hills rolled, sharply broken ups and
downs of country--bad lands rather than real hills, and a difficult region
to keep game in view. That very idea gave Billy his clue.
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