A half hour later, the party reached the “Old Man’s Point,” but as they swept the horizon, saw nothing of the approaching emigrant train. The rocks themselves were a mass of irregular boulders piled above each other to the distance of fully a hundred feet, while the base covered an area of fully a quarter of an acre, so that no better spot could be selected as a rendezvous, or from which to take observations.
“Fred, go to the top and take a look!” said Lancaster, “I expect they must be in sight.”
“I was just thinking of doing so,” was the reply of Wainwright, as he dismounted and began clambering up the rocks. His agility soon carried him to the top, and shading his eyes with his hands, he looked off toward the east a moment, and then called out,
“They are coming!”
“Make right sure,” called Lancaster back to him, “for you are powerful apt to make blunders in this part of the world. Be you sure they ain’t Comanches or Apaches or some other party of stragglers.”
“I can see the white tops of their wagons.”
“I guess you’re right then,” was the comment of both the hunters below, as they considered that this fact established the other truth.
Turning their heads in the direction indicated they were able to discern the caravan, at that great distance, apparently standing still, but, as they knew, moving as rapidly as possible toward them.
Having assured himself that it was all right regarding them Fred Wainwright turned his gaze toward the vanishing Comanches and their stolen sheep. There was no difficulty in locating them, as the vast volume of dust indicated their whereabouts as unmistakably as does the smoke the track of a fire on the prairie.
The young hunter observed something which struck him as rather remarkable. The Comanches, after reaching a point, when it was plain they could not be discerned by any one, standing at the base of the Rock, made a bend fully at right angles to the course they had been pursuing. This they continued, until they grew faint and finally vanished from sight altogether.