“Oh, mah soul—mah soul!” wailed Toots. “Dat sholy am de ol’ debbil hisse’f, chilluns! When we see it next it’s gwan teh hab one ob us fo sho!”
“Hark!” commanded Browning.
The beat of the horse’s feet could be distinctly heard, but the creature had turned about and was going back toward the pass through the bluffs.
Chucker-chucker-chuck! chucker-chucker-chuck! chucker-chucker-chuck! came the ghostly sounds of the galloping horse.
“It’s turned about!” gasped Harry, in astonishment.
“It’s going!” fluttered Jack.
“And we’d better be going, too!” put in Browning.
Then with a familiar whirring sound something came flying toward them through the darkness, causing Toots to utter a wild shriek of terror.
Into the light of the camp-fire flashed a boy who was mounted on a bicycle, and they saw it was Frank Merriwell.
“Away!” he hissed, as he flew past them. “Make straight for the pass by which we entered this pocket. I will join you.”