his kiver till
they're clar out o' sight."

And they do stay in it until the receding horsemen, who present the
appearance of giants under the magnifying twilight mist, gradually grow
less, and at length fade from view under the thickening darkness.

Not another moment do Hamersley and the hunter remain within the grove,
but springing to their saddles, push on after the troop.

Night soon descending, with scarce ten minutes of twilight, covers the
plain with a complete obscurity, as if a shroud of crape had been
suddenly thrown over it.

There is no moon, not even stars, in the sky; and the twin _buttes_,
that form the portals of the pass, are no longer discerned.

But the ex-Ranger needs neither moon, nor stars, nor mountain peaks to
guide him for such a short distance. Taking his bearings before
starting from the black-jack copse, he rides on in a course straight as
the direction of a bullet from his own rifle, until the two mounds loom
up, their silhouettes seen against the leaden sky.

"We mustn't go any furrer, Frank," he says, suddenly pulling up his
mule; "leastwise, not a-straddle o' these hyar conspikerous critters.
Whether the sogers hev goed down inter the valley or no, they're sartin
to hev left some o' the party ahind, by way o' keepin' century. Let's
picket the animals out hyar, an' creep forrad afut. That'll gie us a
chance o' seeing in, 'ithout bein' seen."

The mules being disposed of as Walt had suggested, the two continue
their advance.

First walking erect, then in bent attitude, then crouching still lower,
then as quadrupeds on all-fours, and at length, crawling like reptiles,
they make their approach to the pass that leads down into the valley.

They do not enter it; they dare not. Before getting within the gape of
its gloomy portals they hear voices issuing therefrom. They can see
tiny sparks of fire glowing at the lips of ignited cigars. From this
they can tell that there are sentries there--a line of them across the
ravine, guarding it from side to side.

"It ain't no use tryin', Frank," whispers Wilder; "ne'er a chance o' our
settin' through. They're stannin' thick all over the ground. I kin see
by thar seegars. Don't ye hear them palaverin? A black snake kedn't
crawl through among 'em 'ithout bein' obsarved."

"What are we to do?" asks Hamersley, in a despairing tone.

"We kin do nothin' now, 'ceptin' go back an' git our mules. We must
move them out o' the way afore su