But when the pursuers chanced to cross the trail of the cavalcade they pursued, the hoofmarks of the ponies showed that they were traveling fast.
“Goodness!” exclaimed Nat. “She never would ride with us faster than a toad funeral.”
“That shows she is forced to keep up with them,” Tavia declared, with conviction.
“Don’t talk about it!” groaned Dorothy. “I only hope those awful men can be punished for this.”
“Don’t you fret, Miss Dale,” broke in Lance Petterby, grimly. “If Philo has offered Mrs. White any indignity I dunno but he’ll be hung for it. The boys’ll be mighty sore—believe me!”
“That would be dreadful, too,” sighed Dorothy.
“Serve him just right, I say!” said Tavia, shortly.
This conversation had been carried on while they were mounting the steep rise to the plateau formerly described. In ten minutes they were at the river bank. The ground was of such a nature here that at a casual glance one could not tell whether horsemen had recently passed, going up stream, or not.
“Come on!” commanded Lance, waving his hat. “Whether them hombres is thar, or not, we’ll pull a hot finish.”
The ponies dashed on, following Gaby, as though perfectly fresh. They thundered on up the very narrow trail the girls had followed that day they had climbed to the mountain-top.