“Lie down!” directed Grace. Both were breathing heavily from exertion and excitement.
“I hear them!” whispered Emma.
“Yes. There appear to be several of them, judging from the voices,” answered Grace.
The approaching party halted a little way up the canyon, but the halt was brief, and the horsemen, as such they proved to be, moved on down, as it seemed to Grace, with greater caution, for she could no longer hear voices, only the soft hoof thuds of horses feeling their way in the black night of the canyon.
“They have stopped at our little camp,” whispered Grace. “I felt certain that they would smell the dead fire. Keep very quiet, and be careful that you do not dislodge a stone. If you do, we’re lost.”
A match was lighted down there, and for a few seconds the dim outlines of horses were visible to the watching, listening girls.
A low-toned conference followed, more matches were lighted, flickering here and there like scattered fireflies. Grace felt, rather than saw, that the men were examining the ground for trail signs. If so, they failed to discover the direction that the Overton girls had taken in their scramble up the mountainside.
“Aren’t they going?” questioned Emma.
“I think so. Keep quiet until we are certain. It may be a trick to lure us back.”
A few moments later the horses of the party were heard thudding down the canyon, and the two girls breathed with less restraint.