CHAPTER XX
"WAIT!"
For over an hour Oliver Drew was obliged to lie flat at the bottom of the shallow prospect hole, while Foss remained astride the limb of the digger pine and Tommy My-Ma kept hidden under the pile of brush.
There was no chance to steal out and crawl away through the chaparral, for, while Digger's back was always toward him, he could not tell which way the brush-screened Showut Poche-daka was looking.
At last, though, the man on lookout began to show signs of vast uneasiness. His position was uncomfortable, and down at the cabin there was, of course, no movement to arouse his interest and relieve the tedium of his watch. He squirmed incessantly for a time; and then apparently he decided that the object of his espionage had left the ranch, for he thrust his glasses in his shirt front and began monkeying to the ground.
Oliver's security now was in the hands of chance. If the halfbreed left his observation post by a route which passed near the prospect hole, Oliver would be discovered. If he decided to leave the thicket by crawling downhill, Oliver would be safe from detection.
It was rather a breathless minute that followed, and then he heard the gunman moving off through the chaparral in the direction of the cañon—the least difficult route by far. Apparently he had not come mounted, else he would have retraced his course back to where he would have left his horse.
Gradually the sounds of his retreat died away. Still there was no movement in the pile of brush, so far as Oliver's ears were able to detect. He dared not look up over the edge of the prospect hole that hid him.
Minutes passed. Quail called coolly from afar. Still not the slightest sound from the brush pile.
For half an hour longer Oliver lay motionless and silent. Had Tommy My-Ma slipped out noiselessly and followed Foss? Or was he for some obscure reason still hiding under the dry manzanita tops? At the end of this period Oliver decided that the Indian must have gone. Anyway, he did not purpose to remain in that hole till nightfall.