“And what’s at the bottom?”

“Them huts, an’ the mouth of a damn big cave just behind ’em.  I reckon it’s in the cave they’ve got the gal; there’s places there they kin shut up, but I don’t know what they was ever made fer.  I asked Lacy wunst, but he only laughed.”

The two men lay flat, staring down.  It was almost a sheer wall, and the very thought of climbing along the almost impassable path pointed out by Moore made Westcott dizzy.  He had clambered along the ragged crags of many a mountain in search for gold, but the necessity of finding blindly in the dark that obscure and perilous passage brought with it a sensation of horror which he had to fight in order to conquer.  It was such a sheer, precipitous drop, a path—­if path it could be called—­so thickly studded with danger the mind actually recoiled in contemplation.

“You have really been down there, Moore?” he questioned, half unbelieving.

“Oh, I made it all right,” boastfully.  “But it’s no picnic.  I’d hate like hell to risk it at night, but that’s the only chance you fellows will have to git down.  It would be like trap-shootin’ for them Mexes if you tried it now.”

They lay there for some time talking to each other, and staring down at the strange scene so far beneath them, and which appeared almost like a painted picture within its dark frame of towering rocks and wide expanse of sand.  Except for the rather restless herd of cattle there was little movement perceptible—­a herder or two could be distinguished riding here and there on some duty; there was a small horse corral a short distance to their right, with something like a dozen ponies confined within, and a bunch of saddles piled outside the fence.  Once a man came out of the bunk-house and went down to the stream for a bucket of water, returning leisurely.  He wore the braided jacket and high, wide-brimmed hat of the Mexican peon, and spurs glittered on his boot-heels.  Beyond this the cabins below gave no sign of occupancy.  Moore pointed out to them the main trail leading across the valley and winding up along the front of the opposite wall.  They could trace it a large part of the way, but it disappeared entirely as it approached the summit.

The three men, wearied with looking, and knowing there was nothing more to do, except wait for night, crept back into the sand hollow and nibbled away at the few eatables brought with them in their pockets.  Brennan alone seemed cheerful and talkative—­Moore had liberally divided with him his stock of chewing-tobacco.

CHAPTER XXXI:  WITH FORCE OF ARMS

They were still sitting there cross-legged in the sand when the silence was suddenly punctuated by the sharp report of a revolver.  The sound barely reached their ears, yet it undoubtedly came from below, and all three were upon their feet, when a second shot decided the matter.