He searched her face anxiously. So often they had talked it over, and always neither was quite satisfied. A conflict of emotions was in her face now; her life's dream was there, her great fear.
"They shouldn't be hard for you to get," she marvelled. "Far easier than the camp stables."
"I lef 'em to the last. The boss is cuter'n a thousand bohunks. I wanted to be able to git clear away 'fore he got thinkin' too hard. . . . Las' night the stable was locked. Suthin's scared 'em."
"I don't understand why he hasn't told the Police. But I guess he knew they were stole—stolen when he bought them."
Juno lifted her head, ears pointing, and rumbled in her throat. Blue Pete grabbed the revolver he had discarded on his entry and thrust it into his belt. Then he vanished into the trees that covered the entrance.
Worming along the ground, another clump a stone's throw distant swallowed him. There in the darkness of a second cave he pressed the noses of the two horses, the familiar command to silence, and a moment later he was outside again.
Somewhere above on the hillside was a sound only he and Juno could hear. Blue Pete looked through the leaves and saw Sergeant Mahon.
The Policeman was bent over the ground. Presently he moved slowly onward, eyes ever at his feet, dropping yard by yard down the tree-lined slope. Evidently dissatisfied with what his eyes told him, he stooped at times until his face was within a few inches of the dead leaves and moss; often he rose to full height and looked away toward the camp with a puzzled frown.
Lower and lower he sank toward the river's edge.
Blue Pete glided away before him. He himself had taught this man to trail, had roused in Mahon the quick eye of suspicion that questioned every turned leaf; and now he was to pay for it. Silently he cursed the luck of things. He was satisfied no prying eye about the camp could follow his tracks, but he had not counted on the Sergeant.