It was withheld.
Fyles was the first to reach the bluff, but, almost at the same moment, McBain’s great horse drew up with a jolt. The inspector saw the approach of his subordinate while his eyes were still searching the skirts of the bluff for the patrol who had given the signal.
“He should be on the southeast side,” said McBain, and rode off in that direction. Fyles followed hard upon his heels.
They had gone less than two hundred yards when the officer saw the shadowy form of the Scot throw itself back in the saddle, and pull his great horse back upon its haunches. Fyles swept up on the swift-footed Peter. He, too, reined up with a jolt and leaped out of the saddle.
McBain was on his knees beside the prostrate form of the sentry. The man was bound hand and foot, and a heavy gag was secured in his widely forced open mouth.
At that moment two troopers dashed up. And the sounds of others foregathering could be plainly heard.
As Fyles regarded the prostrate man he realized that once more he had been defeated. He did not require to wait for the gag to be removed. He understood.
He leaped into the saddle, as McBain cut the gag from the man’s mouth. A sharp inquiry broke the silence.
“Say, did you fire that—alarm?” Fyles cried almost fiercely.
The man had struggled to a sitting posture, and began to explain.