at nightfall one of the
men brought them a scanty supply of food.

They ate sparingly, fearing the food might be drugged, but no evil
effects followed the meal.

At the mouth of the cave sat two of the desperadoes on guard, each with
his rifle across his knees.

"A dash into the darkness might save us," suggested Darry, but the
captain shook his head.

"No, those fellows are too good shots," he said. "We will have to remain
as we are until something turns up in our favor."

Our friends wondered if the desperadoes would remain about the cave all
night. The other party which had gone off when Gilroy went for Joe and
Darry had not yet returned, and the leader of the gang seemed to grow
anxious concerning them.

"Something has happened to them," he said to Fetter. "Perhaps we had
better send somebody off on the trail to find out what's up."

So it was agreed, and Fetter was the man chosen for the mission.

As may have been surmised by some of my readers, the other party had
gone off to watch for old Benson and make him a prisoner. The crowd
numbered three, and were desperadoes well acquainted with that
territory.

The old scout had spent several hours in a vain endeavor to locate some
buffalo, when, on resting in the crotch of a tree, he saw the
desperadoes approaching.

The rascals were tired out with their search for the scout, and came to
a halt directly under the tree.

"It's a fool errand," old Benson heard one of the men say. "Matt Gilroy
ought to have been satisfied with corraling Captain Moore and those
boys."

"The captain wants to make a grand round-up," answered another of the
men. "He told me that if we missed Benson the scout might make trouble."

Benson listened to this conversation with intense interest, and soon
learned the truth--that Captain Moore was already a prisoner, and that
another party had gone off to bring in Joe and Darry.

"This is a nice state of affairs," he thought. "These rascals mean
mischief. I wish I could get the drop on them. I'd soon teach them a
thing or two."

He watched the men as a cat watches mice, and, when the party of three
moved on, stole after them like an Indian on the warpath.

The desperadoes skirted the brushwood, but did not go out on the grassy
slope of the valley, fearing that the old scout might be near by in
hiding and see them.

They were a shiftless lot, and soon came to another halt, under some
small trees. Here they threw themselves on the