“One of them was a tall, dark-haired young fellow, English, I should say, from his accent. The other was a squat, red-haired man with a broken nose and a very remarkable voice. If he isn’t your train-wrecker friend I’m much mistaken; and if he is, his asking after you bodes you no good. He’s a bad one, if looks count for anything.”
This was disquieting news to Percy and me, for we had a lively dread of the man with the squeaky voice. Instinctively we turned to our leader for counsel.
“What are we to do, Jack?” I asked.
“Get off the road,” replied Jack, promptly. “And the sooner that thunder-storm comes along the better, for our trail must be as plain as daylight all the way. Is there a stream, George——?”
“Yes, right ahead. Let me go first, Jack; I know this country better than you do; I’ve ridden all over it after cattle. You’d better lead the mules.”
Soon we were strung out in line, and for half an hour we pegged along, every now and then casting back an anxious glance to see which was likely to overtake us first, Squeaky or the thunder-storm. Presently we came to a shallow stream rippling merrily across the road, and having advanced half-way across it, the ranchman turned short to the right and proceeded to ride up its gravelly bed; the rest following behind him. After splashing along in this manner for some distance, our guide scrambled out at a point where the stony nature of the ground would prevent the hoofs of the animals from leaving any trail, and thence he conducted us to a secluded hollow between two hills, completely concealed from the view of any traveller down upon the road.
“Now, Jack,” he began—and then stopped. “Hark!” he cried, holding up his hand. “Do you hear that roaring noise? It’s hail. That will wipe out your tracks. But we must get under the lee of this rocky ledge, or it may stampede the stock. Here it comes!” as a blast of cold air swept along the little valley. “Hurry up!”
We had hardly taken our positions under shelter of the rocks when the light of the sun was suddenly cut off and the temperature went down, I should think, fifty degrees in as many seconds; then came a rumble of thunder; there was a spat-spat, as half-a-dozen big hailstones came hopping along the hard ground; and then all at once, the storm seemed to leap upon us, and for the next five minutes one could not hear himself shout for the roaring of the thunder and the rattling of the hail. The commotion ceased again as suddenly as it had begun; out came the sun once more, and in another ten minutes the whole country was steaming with the moisture of the melted hailstones.
“Now, Jack,” said the ranchman, continuing the speech he had begun when interrupted by the storm, “what do you think of camping here? You have made a very good distance for the first day’s march; this is a good spot for a camp; and what I was thinking of mostly is that we can watch the road from the top of this hill and see if that fellow goes by. What do you think?”
We all agreed that this was a good idea, and accordingly, while we three proceeded to unload the mules and make camp, George Catlin ascended the hill with Jack’s field-glass in his hand, and lying down among the rocks near the summit, kept watch upon the road, with little danger of being seen himself. The grateful mules, relieved of their burdens, were still rolling on their backs, kicking their heels in the air, and grunting with satisfaction, when we observed that our sentinel was making signs to us to come up the hill; we therefore hurried to his side, when he informed us that he had caught sight of two men riding along the road whom he believed to be the two who had called at the ranch that morning.