thers without riders, and
lame," said Gale, slowly.

Yaqui appeared far up the trail, coming swiftly. Presently he saw the
rangers and halted to wave his arms and point. Then he vanished as if
the lava had opened beneath him.

"Lemme that glass," suddenly said Jim Lash. "I'm seein' red, I tell
you.... Well, pore as my eyes are they had it right. Rojas an' his
outfit have left the trail."

"Jim, you ain't meanin' they've taken to that awful slope?" queried
Ladd.

"I sure do. There they are--still comin', but goin' down, too."

"Mebbe Rojas is crazy, but it begins to look like he--"

"Laddy, I'll be danged if the Greaser bunch hasn't vamoosed. Gone out
of sight! Right there not a half mile away, the whole caboodle--gone!"

"Shore they're behind a crust or have gone down into a rut," suggested
Ladd. "They'll show again in a minute. Look sharp, boys, for I'm
figgerin' Rojas 'll spread his men."

Minutes passed, but nothing moved upon the slope. Each man crawled up
to a vantage point along the crest of rotting lava. The watchers were
careful to peer through little notches or from behind a spur, and the
constricted nature of their hiding-place kept them close together.
Ladd's muttering grew into a growl, then lapsed into the silence that
marked his companions. From time to time the rangers looked
inquiringly at Gale. The field glass, however, like the naked sight,
could not catch the slightest moving object out there upon the lava. A
long hour of slow, mounting suspense wore on.

"Shore it's all goin' to be as queer as the Yaqui," said Ladd.

Indeed, the strange mien, the silent action, the somber character of
the Indian had not been without effect upon the minds of the men. Then
the weird, desolate, tragic scene added to the vague sense of mystery.
And now the disappearance of Rojas's band, the long wait in the
silence, the boding certainty of invisible foes crawling, circling
closer and closer, lent to the situation a final touch that made it
unreal.

"I'm reckonin' there's a mind behind them Greasers," replied Jim. "Or
mebbe we ain't done Rojas credit... If somethin' would only come off!"

That Lash, the coolest, most provokingly nonchalant of men in times of
peril, should begin to show a nervous strain was all the more
indicative of a subtle pervading unreality.

"Boys, look sharp!" suddenly called Lash. "Low down to the left--mebbe
three hundred yards. See, along by them seams of lava--be