The only means by which the jumpers could get away from their camp was by the trail down the cañon, along which, during daylight, any one would be exposed for some distance to the fire of our friends in the garrison.
From the Last Chance, however, a man might easily ascend, as we know, and then, by care and trouble, he could pass along ledges above the Aurora, to where, some distance beyond, a crevice enabled him to clamber down to the bottom of the gulch, a few hundred yards below where the trail crossed the creek.
This is what Morris and Len did, as soon as the shadows of the range enveloped them in its curtaining gloom. When they had made their way far enough, they crept to the edge of the cliff, and could see the jumpers eating their supper around their fire on the safe side of the dump. A horse was hitched near by, and Old Bob was saddling him.
“You are right,” Lennox whispered. “He’s going to town to-night, and is most ready to start. We’d better hurry up, if you want to get into ambush ahead of him.”
Moving as quietly as possible, they hastened to where the shelving of the cliff let them get down to the bed of the creek.
A SHORT CUT.
Silver Caves, [Page 159.]
Just as they reached this point, where they most needed the light to aid them, a fierce squall swept down upon the groaning and cracking branches of the spruce fringing the border of the crags, the air became suddenly colder, and whirling volleys of snowflakes were dashed in the faces of the wanderers.