Nor was
it to escape meeting the women. Their coming meant nothing to the
Ramblin' Kid.
He simply wanted to be alone.
The ride with Parker and the boys to the North Springs meant talk. The
Ramblin' Kid did not want to talk. He wanted to be with his thoughts,
his horse and silence.
Should he happen on to the maverick he might give her a run. Since her
first appearance on the Kiowa, the Ramblin' Kid had seen her many times.
More than once, from a distance, he had watched the mare, getting a line
on her habits. Sooner or later he expected to test Captain Jack's
endurance and skill against the filly's speed and cunning. Without
success other riders of the Kiowa had tried to corral the outlaw or get
within roping throw of her shapely head. So far she had proved herself
faster and more clever than any horse ridden against her. The Ramblin'
Kid believed Captain Jack was master of the beautiful mare, that in a
battle of nerve and muscle and wind the roan stallion could run her
down. Some day he would prove it.
At the Narrows the trail forked. One branch turned sharply to the right
and followed a coulee out on to the divide between the Cimarron and the
lower Una de Gata; the other swung toward the river, slipped into it,
crossed the stream, and was lost in the sand-hills beyond.
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