Slowly the morning wore away. When the sun came up it was very hot and the youths were glad enough to draw into the shade of the rocks. Just before noon all three climbed the tall rock again, to look not only for Tom Dillon and the horses, but also for Abe Blower and those with him.
But not a soul was in sight, nor did any horses show themselves. At a distance they made out some mule deer and several goats, but that was all.
"Do you think we ought to walk along the back trail?" asked Roger, when they were getting lunch. "Mr. Dillon may need our services."
"I'll go if you want me to, Roger," answered our hero. "But he was a good distance away when we saw him through the glasses."
"Let us wait awhile—until the awful heat of the midday sun is over," suggested Phil. "The sunshine just now is enough to give one a sun-stroke."
It was a little after three o'clock when the three lads prepared to walk along the back trail, on the lookout for the old miner. But just as they started Dave put up his hand.
"Listen!"
All did so, and from a distance heard the clatter of horses' hoofs on the rocky trail. Then came a cheery call.
"It's Mr. Dillon!" cried Roger, and let out a call in return, and the others did likewise.
Soon the old miner appeared around a bend of the trail. He was seated on his own steed and driving the others in front of him. He looked tired out, and the horses looked the same.