"I ain't any wetter than you are!" retorted the boy, as the rain switched his hair about his face. "Why don't you let me take the light when I go on ahead, then?"
"For the same reason that we do not head our procession with a fife and drum," laughed Frank. "We're not supposed to be here at all!"
"There's nobody out lookin' for a light in this canyon to-night," grumbled Jimmie.
As he spoke he seized Nestor by the arm and drew him back.
"What's that square of light down there?" he asked.
"Probably the camp we are bound for," was the reply.
"Then we've made better time down here than that lobster of an Englishman did," the boy exclaimed. "It took him most of the afternoon to climb down the hills, and we've been only about two hours on the way."
"It seems that we came by a much shorter and easier route," Nestor replied. "Where the other party was obliged to wind around precipices and crags, we made our way along the beds of what was once a succession of streams, cutting the side of the mountain into canyons. Wait here, boys," he added, "until I go down there and see what the situation is."
"Just you hold on until I let Fremont know we are coming!" Jimmie said, and the next moment the wolf-cry which Fremont had first heard rang out.
"Sounds like a wet wolf!" declared Frank.