“What does that mean, think you?” said the governor, smiling.
“An ambush,” replied Bart. “They are waiting for us somewhere.”
“Right,” exclaimed the Captain, carefully inspecting the plain; “but there is little chance of ambush here, the ground is too open, unless they await us on the other side of that rolling range of hills. You are right though, my lad; it is to take effect later on. This is to lull us into security; they have not gone far.”
A couple of hours brought them to the foot of the low ridge, when scouts were sent forward; but they signalled with their lances that the coast was clear, and the party rode on till the top was reached, and spurring a little in advance of the troop in company with the captain and the governor, Bart reined up and pointed right away over the gleaming lake to where the mountain stood up like some huge keep built in the middle of the plain.
“There is the rock fortress,” he cried.
“And where is the silver canyon?” said the governor, looking eagerly over the plain.
“Running east and west, sir, quite out of sight till you are at its edge, and passing close behind the mountain yonder.”
“Forward, then,” cried the captain; “we must be there to-night. Keep up well with the waggons, and—halt! Yes, I expected so; there are our friends away there in the distance. They will be down upon us before long, like so many swarms of bees.”
The greatest caution was now observed, and they rode steadily on for a few miles farther, when Bart joyfully pointed out that the occupants of the rock fortress were still safe.
“How can you tell that?” said the governor, eagerly.