g no more noise, than if all
three were but shadows.

CHAPTER SEVENTY SEVEN.

A STRAYED TRAVELLER.

Pale, trembling, with teeth chattering, Richard Darke awakes from his
drunken slumber.

He sees his horse tied to the tree, as he left him, but making violent
efforts to get loose. For coyotes have come skulking around the copse,
and their cry agitates the animal. It is this that has awakened the
sleeper.

He starts to his feet in fear, though not of the wolves. Their
proximity has nought to do with the shudder which passes through his
frame. It comes from an apprehension he has overslept himself, and
that, meanwhile, his confederates have passed the place.

It is broad daylight, with a bright sun in the sky; though this he
cannot see through the thick foliage intervening. But his watch will
tell him the time. He takes it out and glances at the dial. The hands
appear not to move!

He holds it to his ear, but hears no ticking. Now, he remembers having
neglected to wind it up the night before. It has run down!

Hastily returning it to his pocket, he makes for open ground, where he
may get a view of the sun. By its height above the horizon, as far as
he can judge it should be about nine of the morning. This point, as he
supposes, settled, does not remove his apprehension, on the contrary but
increases it. The returning marauders would not likely be delayed so
late? In all probability they have passed.

How is he to be assured? A thought strikes him: he will step out upon
the plain, and see if he can discern their tracks. He does so, keeping
on to the summit of the pass. There he finds evidence to confirm his
fears. The loose turf around the head of the gorge is torn and trampled
by the hoofs of many horses, all going off over the plain. The robbers
have returned to their rendezvous!

Hastening back to his horse, he prepares to start after.

Leading the animal to the edge of the copse, he is confronted by what
sends a fresh thrill of fear through his heart. The sun is before his
face, but not as when he last looked at it. Instead of having risen
higher, it is now nearer the horizon!

"Great God!" he exclaims, as the truth breaks upon him. "It's setting,
not rising; evening 'stead of morning!"

Shading his eye with spread palm, he gazes at the golden orb, in look
bewildered. Not long, till assured, the sun is sinking, and night nigh.

The deduction drawn is full of sinister sequence.