A couple of dreary hours ensued, during which they could do nothing but wait for daybreak, which, when it came at last, seemed cold and blank and dreary, giving a strange aspect to that part of the country where they were, though their vision was narrowed by the hills on all sides save one, that by which they had entered as it were into what was quite a horse-shoe.
Joses and Bart started as soon as it was sufficiently light, rifle in hand, to try and make out their whereabouts, for they were now beyond the region familiar to both in their long rides from ranche to ranche in quest of cattle.
They paused, though, for a minute or two to gain a sort of idea as to the best course to pursue, and then satisfied that there was no immediate danger, unless the Indians should have happened to strike upon their trail, they began to climb the steep rocky hill before them.
“Which way do you think the Indians were going, Joses?” said Bart, as they toiled on, with the east beginning to blush of a vivid red.
“Way they could find people to rob and plunder and carry off,” said Joses gruffly, for he was weary and wanted his breakfast.
“Do you think they will strike our trail?”
“If they come across it, my lad—if they come across it.”
“And if they do?”
“If they do, they’ll follow it right to the end, and then that’ll be the end of us.”
“If we don’t beat them off,” said Bart merrily.