Leading the animals behind a large greasewood bush, Natachee said to his companion:
“Stay here with the horses and watch.”
Before Hugh could answer, the Indian had slipped away through the gray-green desert vegetation.
A half hour passed. Hugh Edwards watched until his eyes ached. From horizon to horizon there was no sign of life. The desert was as still as a tomb. Then he saw Natachee standing on one of the hills against the sky. The Indian was signaling Hugh to come.
When the white man joined his companion, the Indian did not reply to his eager questions, and Hugh wondered at the red man’s grim and scowling face. Silently, Natachee mounted and started his horse forward.
Presently they rode into a low depression between the hills and Natachee called Hugh’s attention to the water hole and the place where the outlaw had made camp. Pointing out that the trail from this camping place led south, the Indian said:
“They left here as soon as it was dark last night. They are now close to the border. Sonora Jack will not camp another day on this side of the line but will push on this morning into Mexico. We will make much better time to-day than they could have made last night.”
“But that horse—what about that horse you saw?” demanded Hugh.
For a moment, although he stopped, Natachee did not answer. Then, as if against his will, he said curtly:
“Ride to the top of that ridge there and you will see.”