“But they have the horses.”
“True, but they can’t use them much in the mountains. Of course we’ll have to hurry, or they’ll slip us.”
On they went again, Joseph Morris rightfully concluding that the trail around the hollow was shaped very much like a horseshoe. They held their torches close to the ground and in such a fashion that their bodies were between the lights and the Indians.
About half the distance around the ravine was covered when Joseph Morris, who was in the lead, gave a sudden cry of dismay. “We are in a pickle truly!” he exclaimed. “There is an opening here both wide and deep. I don’t see how we are to cross it.”
“Can’t we leap over?”
Mr. Morris shook his head. “I would not dare to risk it in the dark.”
“But the Indians must have gone over, and the horses, Uncle Joe.”
“I don’t see how they could. Let us brighten up the torches a bit and look around. They can’t see the lights from this point.”
They swung the fagots vigorously and soon had lights which lit up the scene for a considerable distance. Then commenced another close examination of the ground.
“They came to this point, that is sure,” said Dave. “But I see no other trail.”