“Look!” broke in Ballard, grabbing Frank’s arm and pointing downward and to the left of the ledge. “See that long break in the gulch wall, running from the top right down to that bunch of chaparral? Who’s that looking out of it?”
“Darrel!” murmured Merriwell, astounded.
“Curly, as sure as you’re a foot high!” fluttered Clancy. “Now, what the deuce do you suppose he’s up to?”
It was a surprising situation, and no mistake. Darrel, screened in the rift, was cautiously looking out and keeping track of the movements of the colonel and Jode.
“Curly wants to talk with the colonel,” said Frank, after a moment’s thought, “and he’s waiting for Jode to get out of the way.”
“I could slip down that chute,” suggested Ballard, “and slide right into Darrel. We could bring him up here, with us, and——”
“Wait till after the blast,” cut in Merry. “The colonel’s just touching it off.”
“See Jode scramble for the tall rocks!” chuckled Clancy. “He’s not going to take any chances on being knocked over by flying stones.”
“Neither is Curly,” added Ballard. “He has ducked down into the bottom of that hole of his.”
“Two sticks of dynamite will lift a pretty big chunk out of that ledge,” said Merriwell, “and before it lets go we’d better push back a little. The charge——”