They disappeared into the black depths of the ravine, moving cautiously and with little noise, Conroy leading, the others stringing along behind in single file. Tom led back the horses while I watched, until convinced they had attained the opposite bank, and the shelter of the orchard. There was no sound of movement anywhere, yet it was not long until daybreak, and any further delay was dangerous. As soon as the Dragoon returned, I gave him a few words of instruction, and the two of us plunged down the steep slope, feeling our way through the darkness, but moving to the right, toward where the scouts had indicated the horses were being herded. We skirted these, creeping along the opposite bank behind a fringe of bushes, certain that the darkness concealed our movements from the two men on guard. Fearful of frightening the animals we dare not approach close enough to count them, but they stood head to head to a picket rope nearly across the narrow ravine. We crossed fifty feet above, gained the top of the bank, and crawled down, sheltered from observation, until we were directly above the two guards. Peering cautiously over we could easily distinguish the black outlines on the hillside below.
One man was standing up, leaning against the trunk of a small tree, while the other was sitting on the ground, his head bent forward, and his hat drawn low over his eyes. Neither uttered a sound, but as my eyes strained through the darkness I began to perceive details which awakened a new suspicion. The fellow standing up wore a cap and no coat, and his hands were clasped about a short, sawed-off gun. He had none of the appearance of a soldier, but the other man apparently was in uniform, although I could not distinguish its character. What instantly attracted my attention was the fact that his hands were evidently tied behind his back. If this was true then he was a prisoner, and the other had been stationed there to guard him, and not the horses. Tom perceived this as soon as I, for I felt his fingers grip my arm, and, when I glanced around at him, he pictured his suspicions in pantomime. I nodded agreement, sinking down behind the ridge, until my lips were at his ear.
"Creep around the edge of the rock there," I said, pointing. "That will bring you at his back, and not more than five feet away. Can you do it?"
He nodded grimly.
"Leave your weapons here," I added, "and when you spring, get hold of his gun so he cannot fire. I'll cover him the instant you strike. Go on."
He unbuckled his belt, and crept along to the right, so noiselessly that even I, watching his snake-like movement, could hear no sound. The guard did not move his head, and the other remained motionless, his face bent almost to his knees. Down below the horses stomped restlessly, and switched their tails. Watching each motion like a hawk, I saw Tom dip over the crest, and worm his way down behind the rock. Then he disappeared, until, as he cautiously arose to his feet, his head and shoulders emerged shadowy just beyond. Realizing he was ready, I got to my knees, gripping a pistol butt. Without a warning sound the Dragoon leaped, his arms gripping the astounded sentinel with the hug of a bear. He gave utterance to one grunt, and then the barrel of my pistol was at his head.
"Not a word!" I said sternly. "Unclasp his belt, Tom. Yes, take his gun. If he moves, or utters a sound, shoot him down."
I wheeled to face the other, who had lifted his head, and was staring at us through the darkness. He was no longer a mere shapeless shadow, but a slender, straight figure, and my heart gave a sudden throb.
"Who are you?" I asked sharply. "Eric Mortimer?"
"Yes," he answered, in evident surprise. "Do I know you?"