“It’s moist, all right,” came on the wind. “No tracks, though. Cows’ tracks here and there. Le’s beat it up higher along the arroyo; there’d be water higher up, I guess. Soaks in here.”
There came faint sounds of a horse moving at a walk toward the last speaker, then all was still once more but for the bluster of the angry wind.
Five minutes the hunted pair lay motionless; then, as no more unusual sounds were heard, Manzanita pulled The Falcon’s sleeve and crawled ahead of him toward the rendezvous.
“That was a close call,” she said as they seated themselves within the shelter of the rocks once more. “Half a minute earlier we’d have been caught in the open forest. They must have caught sight of you on the rock, Tom, from what they said. Close call, boy!”
She looked about her at the gaunt gray stones.
“The dear old things are like friends now,” and she smiled pensively. “My, isn’t it good to be here, safe and hidden again!”
For more than an hour she remained apprehensive; then, as nothing threatening occurred, her heart lightened once more.
“They found no tracks, and have decided it would be a waste of time to search this supposedly waterless thicket. I guess we’re safe. We won’t have to go out again, since we can see Squawtooth from the top of this rock. Unless——”
She stopped and became thoughtful.
“Unless for some reason the signaling is delayed down there and we have to go out and hunt for something to eat,” he finished for her.