“He’s in a mighty big hurry,” said Bob, half aloud. “By Jingo, seems to be getting rather suspicious, too.”
The man had suddenly reined up; then, swinging around in his saddle, he looked long and earnestly in every direction. Apparently satisfied, he whipped up his steed and never slackened pace until the jagged sides of the pass hid him from view.
“Gee—one hasty move, and the jig might be up!” reflected the Rambler, as he rode down the slope.
When Bob, in his turn, crossed the valley and reached the break in the hills he surveyed the somber-looking depths and precipitous slopes with a critical air.
“Whew! I certainly shouldn’t like to be caught in there on a dark night,” he murmured. “By George—there he goes again!”
Scarcely visible against the surroundings, horse and rider were seen moving across an open space.
The lad pulled hastily back, not stirring until he judged the other to be sufficiently far ahead for him to escape the risk of detection.
The cool, damp air was filled with the odor of rank weeds and grasses. Occasionally he came across decaying branches and boughs strewn over the ground; tangled thickets and slabs of rock, too, added to the difficulties of the way. Pools of water and marshy stretches mirrored the gray sky above; and numerous insects hovering over their slimy surfaces attacked the traveler and his horse with unpleasant vigor.
Naturally, Bob often questioned the wisdom of his course. What would his companions think?
“Hang it all, I’ve gone too far now to back out,” he concluded, shrugging his shoulders.