Lazily he watched the satellite; then fell into a doze. And when his eyes opened again, after what seemed to be but a moment’s interval, he was surprised to see how far it had climbed in the sky. The fire had died away, leaving a crumbling mass of red-hot coals. It was too cheerful a companion to be lost.
So Tom, with a yawn, raised himself on his elbow, intent upon replenishing it.
At this instant his ears caught a slight sound which did not seem to be made by his horse or the breeze. Something impelled him to jump hastily to his feet—to swing around and face the clump of trees over whose stunted forms the moonbeams were playing.
A thrill that was almost a shock suddenly gripped him. He staggered back. He had made an astounding discovery.
Sitting silent and motionless in the shadow was a man. His face could be scarcely seen; but the barrel of a rifle resting across his knees threw out gleams of light.
The momentary shock having passed, Tom Clifton was about to speak, when, to his amazement and alarm, the man sprang to his feet and darted toward him.
CHAPTER XIII
SMUGGLERS
Yes, Larry Burnham had outwitted the Ramblers. Smart as they thought themselves it proved a very easy matter to lead his horse outside the stockade, mount and gallop away.
So long as he kept within sight of Fool’s Castle he kept turning in the saddle; and each time, discovering no pursuers, his grin of satisfaction increased.
“I can just imagine how Tom Clifton’ll stamp around and roar,” he chuckled. “Here’s where little ‘Fear-not’ scores.”