Their trail first led across a narrow valley, and then they entered the pass again, which with each slow mile mounted to a higher altitude; but by the middle of the morning it seemed to have reached its greatest elevation, for on beyond them it wound down and down, opening at last into a wide level valley lying in a vast amphitheatre of hills and mountains.
“Mr. Landray, I don't know but I'd like to ride your horse for a spell,” said Rogers.
“You'll find it much cooler in the wagon,” said Stephen.
“It is hot,” agreed the Californian, wiping the sweat from his face.
Nevertheless he swung himself into the saddle, and fell in at the rear of the wagons; and then he increased the distance that separated him from the train, from a few yards to almost half a mile, keeping his horse at the slowest walk. Once or twice in the last hour before their brief noon halt, he thought he heard the distant clatter of hoofs in the pass back of him, but he dismissed this as a mere nervous fancy. A little after midday they entered the valley. For a matter of two miles they toiled forward over a perfectly level plain, barren and bare of all useful vegetation.
Stephen who was in the first wagon reined in his mules to say, “We'll let our teams have a few minutes rest.”
“I'd push ahead, Mr. Landray; I wouldn't waste no time here,” said Rogers anxiously, as he rode up.
“In just a moment, Rogers—hullo! what's that?”
He was looking toward the point where they had entered the valley. Rogers turned quickly and saw that a number of small black objects were emerging from the pass; distant as they were, all knew they were mounted men.
“What do you make them out to be?” Stephen asked.