He seemed quite isolated but he had become sufficiently enured to danger and though he kept a wary eye, he was not nervous. The boys had unholstered their pistols and Juarez kept a straight eye on the moving shadow in the darkness ahead. At the first sign of attack or treachery, he was going to get that particular Manuel.
"I've got my eye on the little varmint," said Juarez in a low voice to Jim. "He may be leading us into an ambush."
"Oh, I guess not," said Jim, with a note of hesitation in his voice. "We have got to find water anyway. The horses are suffering for it, and this beggar can show us where we can locate it."
Just then Manuel threw up his hand with a shrill whistle that had every malignant intention in it. Juarez raised his pistol just ready to fire, when the Mexican laughed shrilly.
"Senor Juarez very nervous. I just stretch and whistle a little and he want to shoot."
A peculiar smile came over Juarez's face, but he said nothing. All the stolid Indian in his nature came to the surface. He merely grunted contemptuously at the Mexican's remark and this made the volatile Manuel uneasy in his turn, for he wanted to realize that his malice had struck home, but Juarez did not give him that satisfaction. There was a sort of hidden duel between these two, the subtle Mexican and the crafty Indian nature of Juarez. It remained to be seen who would win.
The four Frontier Boys went silently along down the dark canyon, each one occupied with his own thoughts and the ill-omened Mexican guide in the lead. Juarez kept a sharp lookout on either side of the trail expecting an ambush. His horse seemed to feel something of the strain his rider was under, as a horse will. Once he shied at something he saw in a clump of bushes, and nearly went off the trail. It was only with the aid of Juarez's horsemanship that he clawed his way back to safety. The Mexican was much amused at this incident, and Jim gave him a sharp call down.