“This will never do. We’d better give it up till daylight. We’re not getting anywhere,” the sheriff suggested.
They did as he advised. As soon as a faint gray sifted into the sky they were on the move again. 283 But whichever way they climbed it was always to come up against steep cliffs too precipitous to be scaled.
The ranger officer pointed to a notch beyond a cowbacked hill. “I wouldn’t be sure, but it looks like that was the way they brought me into the Cache. I could tell if I were up there. What’s the matter with my going ahead and settling the thing? If I’m right I’ll come back and let you know.”
Jack looked at West. The railroad man was tired and drawn. He was not used to galloping over the hills all night.
“All right. We’ll be here when you come back,” Flatray said, and flung himself on the ground.
West followed his example.
It must have been half an hour later that Flatray heard a twig snap under an approaching foot. He had been scanning the valley with his glasses, having given West instructions to keep a lookout in the rear. He swung his head round sharply, and with it his rifle.
“You’re covered, you fool,” cried the man who was strutting toward them.
“Stop there. Not another step,” Flatray called sharply.
The man stopped, his rifle half raised. “We’ve got you on every side, man.” He lifted his voice. “Jeff—Hank—Steve! Let him know you’re alive.”