The day following the inquest, Bartley and Cheyenne left Phoenix, with Fort Apache as their first tentative destination, and with the promise of much rugged and wonderful country in between as an incentive to journey again with his companion, although Bartley needed no special incentive. At close range Bartley had beheld the killing of several men. And he could not free himself from the vision of Panhandle crawling toward him in the patch of white light, the flitting of horsemen back and forth, and the red flash of six-guns. Bartley was only too anxious to leave the place. It was not until they were two days out of Phoenix that Cheyenne mentioned the fight--and then he did so casually, as though seeking an opinion from his comrade. Bartley merely said he was glad Cheyenne had not killed Panhandle. Cheyenne pondered a while, riding loosely, and gazing down at the trail. "I reckon I would 'a' killed him--if I'd 'a' got the chance," he said. "I meant to. No, it wasn't me or Panhandle that settled that argument: it was somethin' bigger than us. Folks that reads about the fight, knowin' I was in Phoenix, will most like say that I got him. Let 'em say so. I know I didn't; and you know I didn't--and that's good enough for me." "And Dorothy and Aunt Jane and Little Jim," said Bartley. "Meanin' Little Jim won't have to grow up knowin' that his father was a killer." "I was thinking of that." "Well, right here is where I quit thinkin' about it and talkin' about it. If that dog of yours there was to kill a coyote, in a fair fight, I reckon he wouldn't think about it long." A few minutes later Cheyenne spoke of the country they were in. "She's rough and unfriendly, right here," he said. "But north a ways she sure makes up for it. There's big spruce and high mesas and grass to your pony's knees and water 'most anywhere you look for it. I ain't much on huntin'. But there's plenty deer and wild turkey up that way, and some bear. And with a bent pin and a piece of string a fella can catch all the trout he wants. Arizona is a mighty surprisin' State, in spots. Most folks from the East think she's sagebrush and sand, except the Grand Cañon; but that's kind of rented out to tourists, most of the time. I like the Painted Desert better." "Where haven't you been?" said Bartley, laughing. "Well, I ain't been North for quite a spell." And Cheyenne fell silent, thinking of Laramie, of the broad prairies of Wyoming, of his old homestead, and the days when he was happy with his wife and Little Jim. But he was not silent long. He visioned a plan that he might work out, after he had seen Aunt Jane and Uncle Frank again. Meanwhile, the sun was shining, the road wound among the ragged hills, and Filaree and Joshua stepped along briskly, their hoof-beats suggesting the rhythm of a song. That night they camped in the hill country not far from a crossroads store. In the morning they bought a few provisions and an extra canteen.