Nearer and nearer, the fugitives approached the haven selected by the notorious outlaw.
"I reckon we're safe, Rosie," breathed Rogers, at last. "We have less than a hundred yards to go."
"Glory be!" returned the girl.
But their rejoicing was premature!
Barely had the words left the outlaw's lips than his keen eyes discerned the form of a man skulking ahead of them.
Suppressing an oath, Rogers bade Rose halt and dismount. Then, crouching low, he glided with wonderful swiftness upon the moving figure.
As he drew himself together for the leap that would bring him upon the man, Red's foot crunched a pebble.
Apprised by the sound that there was some one near at hand, for the outlaw had managed to hide his advance in the shadow of the brush and rocks lining the trail, the man stopped.
"Who goes there? Friend or foe?" he gasped.
"Friend," returned the outlaw, advancing boldly.