"Not yet, boy. We'll not be out of danger till we're over the border and among our own folks. These greasers are no fools, and in a few minutes they'll realize that we've taken to the water, and be along the bank after us."
"But if we turn out here they won't know in which direction we've gone," argued Jack. "Let's leave the creek here and turn north again."
They had been traveling due east through the night, and he waved his hand as he spoke, toward the left bank of the stream.
"Kiddie, you've got horse sense, all right," approved Pete. "I guess that's the best thing for us to do. Anyhow, we've gone as far as we want to in this direction, and it's time to head for home again."
Home—never had the word held so sweet a sound for either of the two imperiled fugitives.
[CHAPTER XIII.]
THE HERMIT OF THE CANYON.
After some difficulty they found a place in the side of the watercourse up which the ponies could scramble. The little animals were soon once more among the rough, broken ground and stiff scrub brush of the upper foothills. The way was steeper now, and even the inexperienced Jack knew that they must be approaching the mountains themselves. Presently in fact, the darker outlines of the range could be seen dimly against the night, looking at first more like a darker portion of the sky itself than a solid body reared against it.