Dave Brandon, with the field-glasses raised to his eyes, suddenly uttered an exclamation.
He had seen a flying group of horsemen appear over the top of a mesquite-covered hill to form, for an instant, an indistinct collection of silhouettes against the sky. Following these came still others until an astonishing number of riders were rushing over the ridge and disappearing into the valley below.
“It’s certainly a much bigger crowd than ever passed along this way,” responded Dave in answer to his companions’ eager questions.
“What a mysterious affair it is,” murmured Don.
Although none of the horsemen could now be seen, their course could be easily traced by an occasional yell or the report of a rifle.
“By George! They’re heading for the Rio, all right!” cried Don. “Hello——”
A number had abruptly ridden into view from behind a ridge and were now racing toward the stream.
“The Mexican soldiers again!” declared Dave, keenly studying the distant figures through his glass. “Yes, sir! It’s back to Mexico for that particular crowd.”
“Rounded up, after all!” said Don. “My, I do wonder if——”
“Don’t let’s think about it,” pleaded Sam. His frowning brow and firm set lips told of unpleasant reflections running through his mind. Then abruptly he added, “Fellows, I can’t stand this inaction a moment longer. Let’s beat it!”