In the meanwhile the shots fired by Colonel Mendix had served one good purpose. The sheriff had lost sight of the rascal; but now the reports helped the officer of the law to locate him, and he struck off on a side trail, with Mr. Whyland close at his heels.
The ground was rocky and uneven and full of loose stones, and the horses made but poor headway. But in this matter they were no worse off than was Colonel Mendix, and both were satisfied that they were making just as good progress as the man they were pursuing.
Five minutes later Oliver and Gus joined Mr. Whyland and the sheriff. They came through a belt of timber and found the two men on the defensive.
“Hullo, it’s the boys!” cried Mr. Whyland. “Have you seen anything of Mendix?” he went on anxiously.
“He is over to the left, in the clump of pines,” responded Oliver. “But be careful. Did you not hear him fire on us? The bullets whistled right over our heads!”
“We heard the shots,” said the sheriff. “The pines, eh? Then he is making for the mine without a doubt.”
“Is there no way of heading him off?” asked Mr. Whyland.
“I believe there is—down at the mountain torrent some distance below here. But no time is to be wasted.”
Without further words they rode on through some low brush and over a rocky plain. While on the latter spot, all hands kept a sharp lookout for stray shots; but none came. Clearly Colonel Mendix had passed down along the watercourse, just as the sheriff had surmised.