“Think the enemy can see better than we do?” he ventured to say, during a temporary halt to make out if possible what had caused a sudden rushing sound through the bushes in front.
“They’re made differently to what we are if they can,” whispered the American dryly. “I’m leaving everything to my nag, and you’d better do the same.”
“That’s what I’ve been doing,” said Chris. “You don’t think that was an Indian, then?”
“No; only some little animal that we started. It sounded loud because everything’s so still, and we expect that everything means danger. Keep close behind me now.”
Chris had no occasion to trouble himself, for his mustang kept its nose very near to its companion’s tail, and they went on and on through the darkness, till Griggs suddenly drew rein.
“Here we are,” he whispered. “It’s narrow enough, and it oughtn’t to take many minutes to stop this gap so that no horse could get through, while in an hour it might be made so that it would take a week to make it passable. Come along, and mind we don’t miss the gully.”
He led on again slowly, pausing at intervals to listen and make sure, for it seemed to be darker than ever, in spite of their growing accustomed to the gloom.
Once more Griggs stopped short, and Chris’s heart began to beat more heavily than ever during the few minutes’ silence that ensued.
“I’m done,” whispered Griggs at last.
“What do you mean? What’s the matter?” asked Chris.