The face of the man who called himself Percy was white and strained as they urged their tired mounts southward. They skirted the western end of the ridge by which they had gained the wide valley and continued on, carefully scanning the landscape in all directions for indications of pursuit. It was 56 plain to them that they had been seen to leave the east trail early that morning. Brown and his men undoubtedly knew they had headed north, and the justice had immediately dispatched men to guard the entrance to the cañon trail into the mountains. Then they had begun a systematic search of the locality.
This deduction was strengthened when Rathburn suddenly pointed toward the east. More riders were to be seen on the slope of the valley’s side in that direction. Even as they looked, these riders, too, disappeared from view as they dropped down behind a rise of ground.
The sun was going down fast. Already the red banners of the sunset were flaunted in the high western skies. The twilight would be upon them apace––the long-lasting, purple-veiled twilight of the altitudes. Then the night would close down with its canopy of stars.
Rathburn looked speculatively at his companion. “We’ll make a break for that clump of trees about a quarter of a mile ahead with all our horses have got left,” he said, driving in his spurs.
In a last mad dash which taxed every iota of strength and endurance left in their beasts they gained the shelter of the little patch of timber.
“Here we’ll wait,” said Rathburn coolly as he dismounted.
“What?” cried the other, staring at him incredulously. “We ain’t quite surrounded yet. We haven’t seen anybody in the south. That way may be open an’ it’s liable to be closed while we’re stayin’ here.”
“Get off your horse and unsaddle him,” commanded Rathburn sternly. “The best place to hide from a posse is in the middle of it!”