.

"Time to get a move on," he announced cheerily. "A bite of grub and
we'll be off. The horses can make better time in the cool of the
morning, and if we have any luck we may strike those fellows before
they've had time to get the sleep out of their eyes."

His energy found an echo in that of the boys, and in a few minutes their
meagre breakfast had been despatched, the horses saddled and they had hit
the trail.

The path wound steadily upward. It was too narrow for them to ride
abreast, and Melton rode in advance, scanning the road with the eye of a
hawk. Three hours passed, and just as they were nearing the top of the
plateau, the leader suddenly stopped. With uplifted hand to enjoin
silence, he turned into the dense forest at the side of the path and
dismounted. Bert and Tom followed suit.

"I smell smoke," Melton whispered. "There's a campfire not far off."

And as a vagrant breeze strayed toward them, the boys, too, sniffed the
unmistakable odor of smoke.

"Of course," went on Melton in a low tone, "it's no sure thing that this
comes from the camp of the fellows we're after. But all the chances lie
that way. We'll tie our horses here and go ahead on foot. See that your
guns are handy and don't step on any loose twigs."

A moment later and the bronchos were securely tied, and, silent as
ghosts, they crept up the woodland path.

CHAPTER IV

THE CAPTURED SENTRY

They had wormed their way through the thick undergrowth for perhaps three
hundred feet, when Melton, who was in the van, paused abruptly and gave a
sign of caution. Then he beckoned the boys to come nearer.

"They've got a sentry posted here," he whispered, "I'd hoped they'd be
too careless or too drunk to do it. Look over there a little to the
right."

They peered through the bushes and saw, sitting on a tree stump, a
Mexican, carrying a carbine, slung in the hollow of his arm. His back
was toward them at the moment, but even while they gazed, he lazily rose
and turned around, so that they caught a full view of his face. It was a
rascally face that left no doubt in their minds that he was one of the
bandit crew. A long knife was thrust in his belt, and he looked like an
ugly customer to tackle in a fight. His small, piglike eyes looked
listlessly about, and then, seeing no sign of danger, he reseated
himself, and taking a flask from his pocket, applied it to his lips.

At a glance from Melton, they retreated as noisele