“I shall know as soon as they come in sight again round that bend,” said he.
After lying for a minute or two, peering through the glass, he backed carefully down the hill a little way, and said in a low voice:
“Those are the men. Take a look at them, Jack. The one on the grey horse is the man with the squeaky voice.”
Jack examined the men and handed the glass to Percy. No sooner had the latter obtained the focus than he uttered an exclamation of astonishment:
“Tom, Tom!” he ejaculated; “that other fellow, the one on the black horse, is Bates!”
“Get out!” said I, incredulously, and seizing the glass I gazed long and earnestly at the younger of the two riders.
It was Bates, sure enough.
Here was an astonishing thing. To us it was a fact absolutely inexplicable that Bates, whom we had last seen peering through a hole in the wall of Hengist’s Castle, should be down there, riding along a disused road in the mountains of Utah, presumably looking for us. How came he there? And why, of all people in the world, should he have chosen that squeaky-voiced reprobate as his companion? There was no telling. We were completely at sea.
It was evident that our tracks had been obliterated, for as we watched them the riders splashed across the creek and continued on their way at the same pace, quite unsuspicious of the fact that the farther they went the farther they were leaving us behind. Presently they disappeared again from our view, when, leaving the hilltop, we returned to the camping-place and resumed our preparations for the night.
It was not until darkness settled down that we ventured to light a fire, fearing that the smoke might betray our whereabouts, and it was pretty late that night ere we retired to our beds upon the bare ground after a prolonged and entirely unsatisfying discussion of the subject of Bates’s mysterious appearance and of his and his companion’s object in seeking for us.