CHAPTER XVIII
SMUGGLING OPERATIONS
Hardly a breath of wind stirred. The sky had become partly clouded, blotting out the moon. Now and then a horse whinnied, softly, as though frightened. The waiting men moved about uneasily, talking in whispers. Nine o'clock passed. Then ten came. The air grew chill and damp, and the clouds overhead gathered more thickly.
"Gonna rain," said the Kid in a low voice. "We sure are favorites with the weather man."
"May hold off," Bud observed softly. He moved over to where Hawkins was standing, eyes peering down the road. "What do you think of it?" he asked the agent.
"Not much," was the quiet answer. "Looks like rain. That means we'll have a hard job to see them when they do come."
"Hey, the Mex wants to go back," the Kid said, lowering his voice. "He's cold, I guess."
"You tell him to stay where he is, or he'll be colder yet," Hawkins said in a grim voice. "We can't afford to take any chances now. Bring that Mex over here. I want to talk to him."
"What's that?" Dick suddenly asked.
They all listened tensely. In the distance they could hear a low rumble.