“Probably the same gang that lifted our hosses!” cried Buck.
“Probably,” agreed Bagsby. He sat upright and peered at us through the dim moonlight. “Want to get after them?” he inquired.
“You bet!” said Buck emphatically, “They may have McNally, and if they haven’t, they’ve got our horses.”
232“There’s six of us and we can shore make it interesting for that lot,” agreed Yank. “Can we get to where they are?”
“I think so,” said Bagsby.
We rode for another hour, slanting down the mountainside toward the flickering fire. Every time a horse rolled a rock or broke a dried branch it seemed to me that the mountains reverberated from end to end. I don’t believe I allowed myself to weigh over six ounces all told. Finally we left the slope for the bottom of the valley.
“I’d rather be below their camp than above it. It’s going to be hard to get out this way,” complained Bagsby, “but it’s the best we can do.” He dismounted us, and we crept forward another half mile, leading our animals.
“This is as close as I dare take the hosses,” whispered Bagsby. “Vasquez, you stay here with them,” he said in Spanish, “and when I yell twice quick and sharp, you answer so we’ll know where to find you. Come on!”
We stole forward slowly. The fire leaped and flared beneath the widespread branches of a tree. Around it lay a half dozen or so recumbent shapes wrapped in blankets. How many more might be lying beyond the light circle we could not tell. Beyond them we saw dimly the forms of dozing horses. Obeying a signal from the old trapper, we circled the camp until we were on the same side as the animals. They raised their heads and blew softly at us; but we lay still, and shortly they quieted down.
“Now,” breathed Bagsby, “when I give the word, fire. And each man grab a horse by the picket rope, stampede the rest, and hustle back to Vasquez. Ready!”