He heard gruff voices before he raised himself to look, and by this he gauged his distance.  He was close enough—­almost too close.  But as he crouched in dark shade and there were no horses near, he did not fear discovery.

When he peered out from his covert the first thing to strike and hold his rapid glance was the slight figure of a girl.  Slone stifled a gasp in his throat.  He thought he recognized Lucy.  Stunned, he crouched down again with his hands clenched round his rifle.  And there he remained for a long moment of agony before reason asserted itself over emotion.  Had he really seen Lucy?  He had heard of a girl now and then in the camps of these men, especially Cordts.  Maybe Creech had fallen in with comrades.  No, he could not have had any comrades there but horse-thieves, and Creech was above that.  If Creech was there he had been held up by Cordts; if Lucy only was with the gang, Creech had been killed.

Slone had to force himself to look again.  The girl had changed her position.  But the light shone upon the men.  Creech was not one of the three, nor Cordts, nor any man Slone had seen before.  They were not honest men, judging from their hard, evil looks.  Slone was nonplussed and he was losing self-control.  Again he lowered himself and waited.  He caught the word “Durango” and “hosses” and “fer enough in,” the meaning of which was, vague.  Then the girl laughed.  And Slone found himself trembling with joy.  Beyond any doubt that laugh could not have been Lucy’s.

Slone stole back as he had come, reached the shadow of the wall, and drew away until he felt it safe to walk quickly.  When he reached the place where he expected to find Wildfire he did not see him.  Slone looked and looked.  Perhaps he had misjudged distance and place in the gloom.  Still, he never made mistakes of that nature.  He searched around till he found the cedar stump to which he had tied the lasso.  In the gloom he could not see it, and when he reached out he did not feel it.  Wildfire was gone!  Slone sank down, overcome.  He cursed what must have been carelessness, though he knew he never was careless with a horse.  What had happened?  He did not know.  But Wildfire was gone—­and that meant Lucy’s doom and his!  Slone shook with cold.

Then, as he leaned against the stump, wet and shaking, familiar sound met his ears.  It was made by the teeth of a grazing horse—­a slight, keen, tearing cut.  Wildfire was close at hand!  With a sweep Slone circled the stump and he found the knot of the lasso.  He had missed it.  He began to gather in the long rope, and soon felt the horse.  In the black gloom against the wall Slone could not distinguish Wildfire.

“Whew!” he muttered, wiping the sweat off his face.  “Good Lord! . . .  All for nothin’.”

It did not take Slone long to decide to lead the horse and work up the canyon past the campers.  He must get ahead of them, and once there he had no fear of them, either by night or day.  He really had no hopes of getting by undiscovered, and all he wished for was to get far enough so that he could not be intercepted.  The grazing horses would scent Wildfire or he would scent them.