The rustlers made haste to obey, some going out by way of the door, others taking to the rear and out by the lean-to in which Stacy Brown had been held a captive.
A moment later Sam Conifer rose from the floor where he had thrown himself on the instant when the light went out, and stole out. Sam did not go far, only to the base of the granite slope, at one side of which he crouched down and waited. Sam could not understand that shot. Why, if it were a friend of the rustlers, did the fellow not shoot him instead of shooting out the light? After a time a light began to dawn on the old guide. He uttered a low whistle signal that had been agreed upon between himself and his companions.
The signal was properly answered.
“Come heah, but do it keerful like,” ordered Conifer.
After a few seconds a voice called out softly. It was the voice of Two-gun Pete.
“Thet you, Sam?” asked Pete.
“Yes. Whar’s that bunch o’ ruffians?” demanded the guide.
“They’ve hit the trail on their ponies, an’ some of ’em had to be helped into their saddles, I reckon. Our fellers aire back heah in the bushes. They was waitin’ till I sized things up an’—”
“Look heah, Pete! Be you the critter thet shot out the light jest when I was holdin’ a friendly conversation with thet bunch? Be you him?”
Pete admitted that he was the man.