"But this is a trail we have come onto, sure enough," I said.
My companions looked at it quietly and I noticed how they both at once unslung their Winchesters from their shoulders, for Donoghue had again taken his share of our burdens.
"Not exactly a trail," said Apache Kid, "at least, neither an Indian's trail nor a buck's trail this time. What was that, Donoghue?"
A sharp crack, as of a branch broken near us, came distinctly to our ears.
Donoghue did not answer directly but said instead:
"You walk first; let Francis here in the middle. I 'll come last," and Donoghue dropped behind me.
Apache nodded and we started on our way.
Neither to left nor right could we see beyond a few feet, so close did the underbrush still whelm the way.
The sound of our steps in the stillness was more eerie than ever to my ears. I felt that I should go barefoot here by right, soundless, stealthy, watching every foot of the way for a lurking death in the bushes.
"Crack," sounded again a broken branch on our left.