Darkness appeared to drop swiftly down; the coyotes began their haunting, mournful howls; the stars showed and grew brighter; the wind moaned through the tips of the pines.  Castleton was restless.  He walked to and fro before the overhanging shelf of rock, where his companions sat lamenting, and presently he went out to the ledge of the bench.  The cowboys below had built a fire, and the light from it rose in a huge, fan-shaped glow.  Castleton’s little figure stood out black against this light.  Curious and anxious also, Madeline joined him and peered down from the cliff.  The distance was short, and occasionally she could distinguish a word spoken by the cowboys.  They were unconcernedly cooking and eating.  She marked the absence of Stewart, and mentioned it to Castleton.  Silently Castleton pointed almost straight down, and there in the gloom stood Stewart, with the two stag-hounds at his feet.

Presently Nick Steele silenced the camp-fire circle by raising a warning hand.  The cowboys bent their heads, listening.  Madeline listened with all her might.  She heard one of the hounds whine, then the faint beat of horse’s hoofs.  Nick spoke again and turned to his supper, and the other men seemed to slacken in attention.  The beat of hoofs grew louder, entered the grove, then the circle of light.  The rider was Nels.  He dismounted, and the sound of his low voice just reached Madeline.

“Gene, it’s Nels.  Somethin’ doin’,” Madeline heard one of the cowboys call, softly.

“Send him over,” replied Stewart.

Nels stalked away from the fire.

“See here, Nels, the boys are all right, but I don’t want them to know everything about this mix-up,” said Stewart, as Nels came up.  “Did you find the girl?”

Madeline guessed that Stewart referred to the Mexican girl Bonita.

“No.  But I met”—­Madeline did not catch the name—­“an’ he was wild.  He was with a forest-ranger.  An’ they said Pat Hawe had trailed her an’ was takin’ her down under arrest.”

Stewart muttered deep under his breath, evidently cursing.

“Wonder why he didn’t come on up here?” he queried, presently.  “He can see a trail.”

“Wal, Gene, Pat knowed you was here all right, fer thet ranger said Pat hed wind of the guerrillas, an’ Pat said if Don Carlos didn’t kill you—­which he hoped he’d do—­then it ’d be time enough to put you in jail when you come down.”

“He’s dead set to arrest me, Nels.”

“An’ he’ll do it, like the old lady who kept tavern out West.  Gene, the reason thet red-faced coyote didn’t trail you up here is because he’s scared.  He allus was scared of you.  But I reckon he’s shore scared to death of me an’ Monty.”

“Well, we’ll take Pat in his turn.  The thing now is, when will that Greaser stalk us, and what’ll we do when he comes?”