"There's a lot going on here to-night," said Fremont. "I wonder if they can see us from where they are?"
"We may as well get away from the tents," was the reply. "There's a good place to hide behind that rock. When Nestor and Frank come we can let them know where we are."
Fremont agreed to this, and the lads were soon hidden in a shallow gully which cut a ridge not far from where the tents had been pitched. For a time all was still, then came the rattling of steel on steel, sounding threatening enough in the darkness.
"Some one's got a gun," whispered Jimmie.
"Our fire may have been seen from above," Fremont ventured.
"Well, they can't find us here," consoled Jimmie. "Anyway, we'll lie here and listen for a few minutes."
The boys lay quiet for a considerable time. There were no more signals then, but they could not banish the feeling that emissitious Mexicans were watching them from the shadows. Directly noises were heard at the tents and a voice asked, in good English:
"Where are they? You said that only two went down the mountain."
"That was right," was the reply. "I don't see where the others can be."
"Do you think they are officers?" asked Jimmie, as the men stumbled about the tents. "They aren't Mexicans."