But Bruin failed to make his appearance, though I followed the hollow for several miles, and finally concluded to give up the search and strike for my destination.
But here I was confronted by a puzzling problem.
I had passed several intersecting ravines on my way, and now I was utterly at a loss which one to take.
I made a speedy choice, however, for there was no time to lose in hesitation, and rode briskly on for two or three hours.
But none of the landmarks which I had been warned to look for appeared, and I had to admit that I was lost.
It was now about four o’clock in the afternoon, and the setting sun showed that I had been traveling in the proper direction—in the general sense of the word, but whether the ranch was close at hand or not, I had not the remotest idea.
Some distance ahead I could detect the sound of running water, so I concluded to slake my thirst, and then strike for the highest point of ground to be found where I could obtain a view of the country.
In a moment I saw the water sparkling at the bottom of the ravine, and, as I rode down to the spot, a startling and unpleasant sight met my eyes.
Two men, an evil-faced Mexican and an Apache Indian, were sitting by the side of a great rock. Their horses were tied to saplings a few feet away, and their arms, I noted with relief, were lying on the ground, almost equally distant.
The surprise was mutual, for the mossy path had muffled the sound of my horse’s hoofs.