They were three in number. One, a middle-aged man with a careworn expression and haggard face was drearily peering round about him. Close beside him, on a “clay-bank” horse, sat a handsome young man, speaking to him in a low tone, evidently endeavoring to cheer him. The third was a burly, stout man, on a powerful “States horse.” The reader is well aware who they are—the party of searchers.
But Pedro did not know them, and though strongly suspecting their identity, was not the man to trust to appearances or jump at conclusions. He resolved to wait and watch.
“Here comes the guide and Cimarron Jack,” remarked Carpenter, pointing over the plain. “And the wagons are at hand, too; we will soon be strongly encamped.”
Mr. Wheeler made no rejoinder save a sigh.
By the gaze of his two comrades, Pedro judged the guide and Cimarron Jack were at hand. The latter he had often heard of, but had never seen. His supposition proved correct; a rattle of wheels was heard, three white-capped wagons rounded the hill and drew up by the three horsemen, and simultaneously two men came round the opposite side, mounted, the one on a mustang and the other on a powerful deep-bay.
Though the twilight had almost given place to night, yet Pedro recognized the former of the two horsemen—the guide. His heart leaped at the sight, for joy. Many were the dangers he had faced with the weatherbeaten guide, many were the hardships they together had endured, closely-knit were the bonds of mutual like and esteem; and Pedro with joy gazed upon his companion of yore.
His first impulse was to rush out and grasp his old “pardner” by the hand; but a second thought changed his mind.
“They might become alarmed and shoot me,” he reflected. “I will make myself known.
“But stay,” he resumed. “I might as well see to my treasure—I don’t know all of those men; there might be a knave among them.”
The precious bag still lay covered with the saddle, the water-bucket and the blankets.