There, where the cañon gave on to the open desert, he approached the clump of piñon and mesquite, and dragged forth the pack of supplies which he had seen. It had evidently been flung out of his car by Sidewinder. He stooped to open the pack and examine its contents—then he suddenly stood up. A queer noise had startled him, a noise which made him glance incredulously at the sky. An airplane?
No. He turned and stood transfixed. There, approaching at full speed, leaping and bounding on the rough desert floor, was one of the two vanished flivvers, and all three men were in it.
He stood staring, helpless, not daring to produce the pistol from his pocket and open fire. That might have been his best chance; yet he neglected it. With a grinding squeal of brakes, the car rushed down to a halt ten feet away. Sidewinder leaped out in the cloud of dust, followed by Tom Emery and Cholo Bill.
“Manuel! Where’s Ximines?” demanded Sidewinder hastily.
“Up the cañon.” Ramsay waved his hand. “What’s the matter?”
Sidewinder turned to the two men, who had rifles in their hands. Obviously, something very much was the matter, for they were pouring out oaths at sight of the horses, and were in frantic haste.
“Go get Manuel and the hosses—quick!” snapped Sidewinder. “This is as far as they can get in their car—we got the hosses, and they aint got any. Move, durn ye!”
The two men stood their rifles against the car and started away, toward the staring figure of Miss Gilman and the slowly moving horses.
CHAPTER XIII
Sidewinder stood snarling malevolently at Ramsay, his glittering gray eyes filled with a greenish light, his gray mask of a face bitter to see.