With a glance at the fast-approaching storm, Thad said quickly:
“You don’t understand, son, we ain’t worried about the gal gettin’ wet.” And then in a few words he explained the grave possibilities of the situation. “If she stops at Saint Jimmy’s, it’ll be all right, but if she’s a-tryin’ to make it home and gets caught in the cañon——“
A gust of wind and a swirling dash of rain punctuated his words.
Old Bob started for the cañon trail. The others followed at his heels. When they reached the narrow road a short distance away they halted for a second.
“There’s fresh hoss tracks,” said Bob. “Somebody’s been ridin’ this way. ’Tain’t the pinto, though.”
“It’s the Lizard probably,” said Edwards. “I saw him pass on his way up the cañon this forenoon.”
Half running, they hurried on. Before they reached the first turn in the cañon, a fierce downpour drenched them to the skin. The falling flood of water, driven by the blast that swept down from the mountain heights and swirled around the cliffs and angles of the cañon walls, hissed and roared with fury.
“There goes any chance of strikin’ her trail,” shouted Thad grimly.
The three men bent their heads and broke into a run.
At the beginning of that stretch of the trail which follows the bed of the creek, Bob stopped abruptly.