There came no answer.
Clint called, sharply, imperatively. “Come out, Ruth! No nonsense!”
The child did not appear. Hollister clambered up and looked back of the big rock. She was not there. They searched the hillside, shouting as they did so.
Ruth was not to be found. The echo of their alarmed voices was the only answer.
CHAPTER XX
A CLASH
From behind the cover of a huge boulder on the steep hillside a man watched a car labor up the grade and give up. He trained field-glasses on the occupants. From his throat there came a sound like the snarl of a wild animal. He had recognized the driver and the girl in the tonneau.
Out of a hip pocket he drew an automatic revolver. His teeth bared like the fangs of a wolf. Not once did his eyes lift from the driver and the young woman with him until they disappeared round a bend in the road above.
He rose and stretched his cramped limbs, then moved cautiously down the hill slope to the car. A child was in the back seat playing with a puppy.
“Mamma’s gotta go to town an’ buy Baby Fifi some shoes wif silver buckles ’n’ a new blue dress ’n’ free pair of stockings. ’N’ while she’s gone, you better bee-have or Mamma’ll have to spank you good when she gets back,” the little girl advised.
At the sound of footsteps she looked up.