“We’ll go a little further,” said Strubell in the same guarded undertone, “but we must be on the watch, for we’re in a bad place ourselves.”
“Sh!” At that moment, they caught the sound of a horse’s hoofs, their experience telling them the animal was on a gallop. The noise was faint—quickly dying out, thus showing that the pony was receding instead of approaching. Nothing, therefore, was to be feared from the rider of that particular animal.
To guard against passing their friend, the Texans now separated a few paces, taking care to keep within sight of each other. They pushed forward at a moderate walk, on the alert for the first evidence of danger.
A couple of rods were traversed in this manner when Lattin, who was on the left, emitted a faint hissing sound. At the same instant he sank to the ground, and Strubell was hardly a second behind him in doing the same. He saw nothing, but he knew that his friend did.
A form so dim, shadowy, and indistinct that he could trace nothing more than its outlines took shape in the gloom itself, a short distance in front of Lattin, who was so quick to utter the warning to his companion. It was not a horseman, but a man on foot.
The suspicion that it might be the trapper caused the Texan to give another faint call—so faint indeed that the alert ear of an Apache would not have noticed it. Old Eph would be sure, however, to read its meaning.
But the reply was not satisfactory. Instead of answering it with a similar signal, the silence was not broken, and, while the Texan was peering into the darkness, he became aware that he was staring at vacancy. The form had melted into the gloom—proof that it was moving in another direction.
“It must have been one of the varmints,” whispered Lattin, as he stepped noiselessly to the side of his friend, “but I didn’t s’pose they was walkin’ round instead of ridin’ their animals.”
“They must suspect something; I guess Eph got through, after all.”