“Halt!” he shouted, and aimed his pistol downward. “Halt!”
Looking over the edge of the rock, the others saw Colonel Mendix riding along a narrow path beside the watercourse.
At the sound of the sheriff’s voice the Spaniard looked quickly around, but he did not slacken his animal’s speed.
“Did you hear?” demanded Sheriff Shattock. “Halt! I have a dead aim on you.”
At this Colonel Mendix uttered a loud cry to his horse, and away bound the animal on a swift gallop.
The sheriff fired, and the sound of the shot, echoing and re-echoing through the cañon, frightened the animal below. He leaped to one side; and in a trice horse and rider were in the mountain stream, and being borne along by the swift current.
“Just my miserable luck!” muttered the sheriff. “See, he knows enough to duck under, and thus avoid another shot!”
“What is best to do now?” asked Oliver anxiously.
“We must go down to the slope below here and try to head him off. Quick! there is not a moment to lose!”
Again the sheriff went on, with the three others stringing after him in single file. The flat rock was passed, and once more they found themselves among the loose stones and short, thorny bushes. The sheriff was the best rider of the party, and he soon drew ahead. Gus was the worst laggard, and he begged Oliver not to leave him alone.