"Then let's get away from here quick," returned the girl, getting to her feet in evident alarm at the thought of so many pursuers in such proximity.
"Don't worry, Rosie," comforted Red. "We're practically safe because they don't know where to look for us. That's why I shot our ponies last night and shoved the carcasses into Ten Mile creek. They won't find 'em and, learning from Keno we had horses, they'll never think of looking for a foot trail. Still, we'll be going as soon as you've cooked some grub. It won't be safe to have a fire after to-day till we get to the old Stockade."
"Then I'll get busy right away," asserted the girl. "Somehow, I don't feel safe here, and if our going depends on me, it won't be long before we start."
Even as she spoke, Rosie walked toward the entrance of the cave and soon disappeared within the gaping maw of the crevice.
At the mention of the outlaw's destination, the scouts had been amazed. Often had they heard of the Old Stockade, but, as none of the Mounted Scouts at the Post had ever seen it—or knew it's location—it had come to be regarded by the Service as a myth.
But Red's announcement was evidence of its existence, and excitedly Jennings and Shaw strove to recall the stories they had heard about it.
So far as either could remember, it was supposed to be a fort built in the mountain fastnesses of the "Bad Lands" as a refuge against attacks from Indians by a score of men who had discovered a gold mine.
That Red knew its whereabouts surprised them, and bitterly they cursed their inability to compare notes as to the place, due to the distance their captors had left them apart.
To Jennings, in particular, the thought of being carried into captivity by the desperado was torture. In his heart, he believed he could have overpowered the fellow if he had been attacked anywhere than from behind. And the more his mind dwelled on this, the more furious he became.
Suddenly, an idea occurred to him, and, raising his head, he surveyed his captors.