“Let up on that, you fellers!” howled Giles. “It’s me, Giles.”
“Come ahead, then,” called Bascomb.
Giles hurried on, and finally vanished in the shadows of the rocks.
“That will make three on the island,” said Dell, “and probably Bascomb and Bernritter will be able to give Giles a weapon.”
“What if they do?” the scout answered. “With some one here to guard the causeway, half a dozen men would be as secure on that island as though they were locked in a cell. Giles may get the horses, or he may not. We’ll see.”
Sounds of conversation floated across the bubbling sands from the island, and it was apparent that Giles was telling how the resourceful scout had accomplished his coup. Presently the voices died away, and then, a little later, some one could be seen leading two horses. The horses were in single file, Giles leading the first, and the one behind tied to its mate in front.
“They’re letting the horses come without a word of protest,” remarked the scout, peering warily at the approaching animals.
“They may be up to some job or other, Buffalo Bill,” warned Dell.
“They are,” returned the scout grimly. “Bascomb and Bernritter are each walking on the off-side of one of the horses.”