Down, step by step, moved Mahon, a zig-zag course that missed nothing. Nearer and nearer he approached the cave home of the one who was watching him with fevered eyes.
Blue Pete pictured the penalty he must pay were he taken now. Another week or two and it would be different. There were still the two horses in the boss's stable before his name was clear, and the bunch down in the Cypress Hills was waiting to be returned to their rightful owners. He could not face what the law would demand of him—Mira would not live through it. Imprisonment—disgrace—death to all the hopes that had sustained them both since his recovery!
On the trail of the unsuspecting Policeman he crept, and his face was grim and gaunt.
Where the river bottom ran more level, Mahon halted and looked about with a more general interest. The halfbreed felt safer, for he had taken greater precautions nearer the caves. But there was always the chance of a mistake, none knew it better than he who had profited so often from the mistakes of others. And Mira's horse might fail them at the vital moment; he had no fear of Whiskers.
Sergeant Mahon let his eyes fall to the ground again and started. Dropping to his knees, he bent close above the spot where the halfbreed had scattered the spruce needles not an hour before. With careful breath the Policeman blew. After a time he sank back on his heels and passed a hand across his forehead. All about him he peered with piercing eyes.
Blue Pete slowly drew the revolver from his belt.
Mahon came to his feet and moved forward, bent over the tell-tale moss and half overgrown sand. He was making straight for the cave.
The arm of the halfbreed lifted. Perspiration was breaking out on his swarthy face, and his left hand opened and closed. But his teeth were gritted, and the hand that held the gun was steady as steel. At least his old friend would never know who killed him.
A short ten yards from the cluster of trees that hid the cave Mahon stopped, a perplexed, self-deprecatory twist to his face, like a man who has been dreaming. Then he edged off toward the river, carelessly, smiling reflectively. The halfbreed wriggled after him. For several minutes the Sergeant stood looking out across the water, then, shrugging his shoulders, skirted to the east and slowly climbed the bank.
Blue Pete threw himself on the ground, dark face pillowed in a shaking arm.