The boys watched the distant light for a while longer, and then descended to the camping spot. The others listened with interest to what they had to report.
"We'll be after 'em at sun-up," said Tom Dillon. "An' now all o' yer had better turn in an' get what rest you can."
This was sensible advice, and the three youths lost no time in following it. They turned in around the fire, which was kept burning, so as to keep away any possible prowling beasts. Tom Dillon was the last to retire, he looking to it that all of the horses were tethered.
It was just growing daylight when Dave awoke with a start. Something had aroused him—what he could not tell. He sat bolt upright, and at the same moment the old miner, who was beside him, did the same.
"What's up?" asked Tom Dillon, instinctively feeling for the pistol he carried.
"Our horses!" cried Dave. "They are running back on the trail!"
"Somebody is stealin' 'em!" roared Tom Dillon, and was on his feet on the instant.
By this time the noise had awakened Phil and Roger, and all three boys followed the old miner in arising. In the gray light of the morning they could see that their four horses were moving along the back trail on a gallop. A single man seemed to be in charge of them, on a steed of his own.
"Halt!" yelled Tom Dillon. "Halt, or I'll fire on you!" And he raised his pistol.
At this sharp command the man with the horses turned slightly to look back. He crouched low, and wore a sombrero pulled down well over his face. On the instant he rode to the front of the galloping steeds, thus getting out of range of the old miner's weapon.