“That’s right, too,” said Clancy.
“Before we try the rope trick, Darrel,” spoke up Merry, rising to his feet, “we’ll go back to camp; come down the cañon and see if the wall under the shelf can’t be scaled.”
“It can’t,” asserted Darrel, with conviction. “I can see enough of it from here to make me sure of that.”
“We’ll look over the ground from below, anyhow,” said Merriwell. “Come on, fellows; there’s no use hanging around here.”
“Wait a minute, Chip,” called Ballard, who was still standing at the cañon’s brink. “There’s a man on a horse coming up the gulch. Wonder if he’s bound for Tinaja Wells? I wouldn’t swear to it, but I’ve a notion the rider is Colonel Hawtrey.”
At this Darrel whirled with a muttered exclamation and peered down at the white streak of trail angling back and forth among the trees and masses of bowlders. The horseman was proceeding slowly northward, his head bowed in deep thought. In a few moments he would be abreast of the lads on the top of the wall, and almost under the shelf.
“It is the colonel!” muttered Darrel, in an odd, strained voice. “Why do you suppose he’s riding this way? I’ll take my solemn Alfred he’s bound for our camp.”
“Don’t be too sure of it, old man,” said Merriwell. “He pulled out with the Gold Hillers early this morning to see them safely settled in a camp of their own. That bunch went south, didn’t they? Well, it stands to reason that the colonel has to come this way in order to get back to Gold Hill.”
“No, Chip,” disagreed Darrel, “the colonel’s easiest course to Gold Hill from below Tinaja Wells would be by the other trail from Dolliver’s. He’s got business at our camp, and that’s the reason he’s coming this way. Maybe,” and Darrel’s face filled with foreboding, “what he’s got in mind has something to do with me.”
“Don’t be in a taking about it, Darrel,” Merriwell answered, laying a hand on his new chum’s shoulder. “It’s a cinch that anything the colonel may have in his mind can’t hurt you. If he’s going to be a visitor, we’d better go down and see what he wants.”