Now they began the steep climb back into the mountains. Eventually they reached the top, and had flattened themselves to crawl into the chaparral when a voice was borne to them on the wind.
“Mercy!” cried Manzanita in low tones of consternation. “They’re right on us. Crawl! Crawl!”
They did crawl desperately, and then came to a stop when well hidden and lay without a move, lest sounds of their progress be heard.
Now came a voice at the edge of the thicket.
“Could that rock be up there in the chaparral?” it cried.
“Where’d they get water up in there?” came another voice, from a little distance.
“Might sneak out and go down to that arroyo for it. Give the arroyo the once-over for tracks. Oughta be water there—I see ferns growin’. If she’s moist, I’ll say comb the chaparral for ’em. This is about the distance Squawtooth said the rock might be from that pine back there.”
CHAPTER XX
PREPARATIONS FOR NOON
A BIG black touring car covered with dust purred into the village of Opaco. It had come through the pass from the coast side of the range, braving the rattling sand. Two men rode in the car besides the driver. All three wore goggles and had otherwise protected themselves from the fierceness of the sand storm as much as possible.
The disguise, however, failed to hide the ruddy, veined, and rather heavy face of one of the passengers, a large, portly man in corduroy and puttees.