Getting to the shelf and underneath it, without leaving a tell-tale trail, was difficult, but they succeeded in accomplishing it.
“Lie down and try to get some sleep,” advised Grace, after the two had squeezed in under the shelf. “We are in no immediate danger here.”
Being on the verge of utter exhaustion, Emma Dean needed no urging, and almost immediately sank into a deep sleep, while Grace lay back with closed eyes, getting what rest she could, and reflecting over the exciting incidents of the last few hours. As for the bandit she had shot, she did not believe his wound to be a serious one. Grace had aimed for the upper left limb, and believed she had hit it. She had not had time to turn to see how seriously Belle Bates was wounded.
Nothing more having been heard of the bandits, Grace finally turned her attention to the important matter of getting back to the Overton camp. First, she got her points of compass from the sun, but this did not greatly assist her, not knowing to a certainty in which direction the camp lay. Not a familiar landmark could she find.
“Wake up! We must be going,” said Grace, gently shaking her companion.
“Grace dear, I’m so lame and stiff that I don’t believe I can walk.”
“Perhaps you prefer to remain here and starve or be captured again,” suggested Grace.
Emma got up, and said she was ready.
The two girls then started off as briskly as Miss Dean’s sore joints would permit. They continued on until four o’clock in the afternoon without finding the trail over which they had ridden to the mountain top.
“I fear we shall not find it, dear,” Grace finally admitted.