“Colter, what ’re we goin’ to do?” demanded Springer.
“Wait heah a while—then cross the canyon an’ work round up under the bluff, back to the cabin.”
“An’ then what?” queried Somers, doubtfully eying Colter.
“We’ve got to eat—we’ve got to have blankets,” rejoined Colter, testily. “An’ I reckon we can hide there an’ stand a better show in a fight than runnin’ for it in the woods.”
“Wal, I’m givin’ you a hunch thet it looked like you was runnin’ fer it,” retorted Somers.
“Yes, an’ packin’ the girl,” added Springer. “Looks funny to me.”
Both rustlers eyed Colter with dark and distrustful glances. What he might have replied never transpired, for the reason that his gaze, always shifting around, had suddenly fixed on something.
“Is that a wolf?” he asked, pointing to the Rim.
Both his comrades moved to get in line with his finger. Ellen could not see from her position.
“Shore thet’s a big lofer,” declared Somers. “Reckon he scented us.”