While Bob repeated it the mountaineer's lips moved after him, as he tried carefully to fit each sentence to the pencil strokes. But from his deep breath of uncertainty at the end it appeared to bring him little satisfaction; and he was turning away when suddenly his frame stiffened and his hand touched Bob's shoulder.
To the east of them stood Snarly Knob, so called because of its serrated crest resembling a row of teeth from which the lips had been drawn back in an angry snarl. Half way up its almost perpendicular side a spur jutted into the air, and on this a figure stood. Only the hawk-like eyes of Dale could have seen the clenched fists raised high in a gesture of fury, eloquent of a flow of oaths which he knew were being hurled upon the trespassers in the clearing. The Colonel and Bob, following his steady gaze, saw and understood. Bob's face went white with anger, but the older man's held a troubled look. Dale's face told no story whatsoever.
"I wish he'd fall," Bob gritted his teeth. "He's just above the disappearing stream, Colonel!"
"What's the disappearin' stream?" Dale asked.
"It's a good sized creek that comes tearing down and tumbles into a sort of cave. Nobody knows where it comes out, and if it ever catches a man he's gone. The hole and suction is directly under that spur."
"Couldn't fetch 'im with one of them new-fangled guns of your'n, could ye?"
"Oh, no, Dale; that spur must be easily two miles."
"Come," said the Colonel, "let us go back. Our mission here is done, and now we must see that it remains well done. Dale, how did you find this place?"
"I came from the schoolhouse," he answered.
"You mean," Bob cried, "that you trailed him half a dozen miles?"