"Oh, get out," growled Dick, leading his broncho to where the others were tethered.
The boys had selected for their camp an inviting spot on a level, grassy stretch. Close by, a growth of scrubby trees and underbrush supplied them with plenty of fuel. On the west was a wide, deep gully filled with a profusion of vines and weeds, between which, here and there, could be seen moss-covered rocks.
"All hands pitch in and get those birds prepared," laughed Bob.
The quail were soon toasting over a bed of red-hot embers and sending forth a savory odor. Even the loss of the packhorse did not seem to affect their appetites in the least.
"Oh, ho," sighed Dave, as he finished his last mouthful, "isn't that Egyptian blackness out there?"
"Looks to me more like good old Washington blackness," grinned Bob.
Outside of a dancing circle of firelight, everything was lost in impenetrable gloom.
The boys wondered if the mysterious horseman knew of their presence, and, if so, why he had not come forward. Then, discussing the prospect of finding their missing beast of burden, Jack Conroy cheerfully insisted that its innocent young life had probably already paid a forfeit to a pack of hungry coyotes.
Leaving Dick Travers to stand first guard, the others finally rolled themselves up in their blankets and turned in, hugging the fire closely, for the air had a decidedly wintry feeling.
Dick began to pace to and fro, the soft pat, pat of his footfalls mingling with the sound of bronchos munching the grass or occasionally stamping. It seemed very lonely and desolate, but he speculated whether, in that mysterious gloom beyond the firelight, there might not be other human beings wandering about; and every unusually loud sound of snapping twig or rustle borne on the wind made him keenly alert.