“There’s no use in both of us keeping awake,” the small boy thought. “I can just as well watch those fellows. Anyway, if Jimmie has the situation sized up correctly, they won’t go away without letting us know,” he continued with a grim smile.
This reasoning was all very well on the part of the boy, but in five minutes he was sound asleep himself.
It was ten o’clock before the outlaws emerged stealthily from their tent. There was no moon as yet, although there would be one later on, but the light of the stars was quite sufficient for them to look over the entire valley in which the Louise lay.
Once beyond the circle of fire they could see quite distinctly up to the rim of the thicket at the sides of the bowl. They conferred together for a moment, and then Mendoza crouched down on the ground, drawing Phillips with him and drew a revolver.
“What is it?” asked Phillips.
“There, at the edge of the thicket!” replied Mendoza. “There is some one creeping along the ground!”
“It’s a dream!” declared Phillips.
At that moment the figure of a man left the underbrush and crept cautiously down toward the fire. The outlaws secreted themselves in the shadows and watched him. He hesitated for a moment, just at the rim of the firelight, apparently listening for some indication of wakefulness in the tents, then he moved straight to the collection of provisions which had been prepared, and a portion of which had been left in view.
“Guess it’s some hungry tramp,” suggested Phillips.
“Is it?” replied Mendoza. “Just look again! That’s Graybill from New York. Look at the big shoulders and the blond head of him!”