Yet scarcely did it seem to the anxious group that he had gone than he was back.
"Quick! Blindfold the prisoners!" he commanded. "We can't get to the Old Stockade. The fire wall runs clear round the loop, and when I turned 'Look out' rock, a score of lights were just starting up the very mountain we're on."
"Where are you going, back?" queried Rose, the only indication of the desperateness of their situation being in the tenseness of her voice.
"Don't talk direction," warned Rogers. "We're going to the 'Breathing Cave.' It's our only chance—and it's going to be lively work. Dismount and walk, Pedro. We can make better time and help the horses more."
Instantly the outlaw's commands were obeyed, and the dash for the "Breathing Cave" and temporary safety, at least, was begun.
Maddened to think they were powerless to disclose the whereabouts of Red Rogers, the scouts racked their brains for some expedient by which they could manage to retard the fugitives. But in vain. And to their helplessness was added the inability even to see how close their comrades were.
When the heliograph signal had been received at the Fort and by the three center columns that Lieutenant Fox and his men had not only picked up the outlaw's trail, but had actually got near enough to shoot at him, there was great excitement and jubilation among the troopers in the saddle and the men left at the Post.
What the colonel and civil authorities had feared it might take weeks, perhaps months, to do had been accomplished in less than forty-eight hours, and their joy was corresponding.
Instantly word was telegraphed to deputy marshals and sheriffs as to the general whereabouts of the fugitives, and they were urged to press into service every man who could carry a gun and ride to the foothills without mercy to their horses.
Assurances received that the request would be obeyed, the colonel ordered four hundred of the five hundred troopers left at the Fort to race to the scene, and he himself rode at their head.