“What’s the matter?” asked Captain Dawson, in the same mood.
“We’ve passed ’em,” was the reply; “they’re somewhere behind us.”
“How far?”
“That remains to be found out, but I don’t think it’s a great distance.”
The captain angrily wheeled his horse and re-entered the stream.
“If they don’t get away, it won’t be our fault,” was his ungracious comment; “we have done little else than throw away our chances from the first.”
The guide made no response, and the next minute the four were retracing their course, their animals at a walk, and all scanning the rocks on either hand as they passed them.
It was clear by this time that the fugitives held one important advantage over their pursuers. The route that they were following was so devious and so varied in its nature, that only at rare intervals could it be traced with the eye for a quarter or half a mile. Certain of pursuit, Lieutenant Russell and his companion would be constantly on the lookout for it. They were more likely, therefore, to discover the horsemen than the latter were to observe them. Even if their flight was interrupted, there were innumerable places in this immense solitude where they could conceal themselves for an indefinite period.