d mounted. In two more
they are entering the gap from outside, their masters on their backs.

These, spurring the animals to speed, enter the gorge, their eyes
everywhere. They reach the spot where the peon was so late seen,
striving to get into his saddle. They see the turf torn up by the
hybrid's hoofs, but no man, no mule.

CHAPTER FIFTY FIVE.

A LAGGER LAGGED.

The surprise of the two men is but momentary; for there can be no
mystery about the peon's disappearance. He has simply gone down the
ravine, and back into the valley. Is he on return to the house, which
they know is now untenanted, and, if so, with what intent? Has he
become so attached to the place as to intend prolonging his sojourn
there? or has something arisen to make him discontented with the company
he has been keeping, and so determined to get quit of it by hanging
behind?

Something of this sort was on their minds as they last saw him over the
crest of the ridge. While in conflict with his mule, he was ever and
anon turning his eyes towards the point where the soldiers must have
been last seen by him; for from the gap in which he was these were no
longer visible. Both Hamersley and Wilder had noticed an uneasy air
about him at the time, attributing it to his vexation at being delayed
by the obstinacy of the animal and the fear of being left behind. Now
that he had mounted and taken the back-track, the cause must be
different.

"Thar's somethin' queery in what the coyoats doin'," is Walt's
half-soliloquised observation; adding, "Though what he's arter tain't so
eezy to tell. He must be tired o' their kumpany, and want to get shet
o' it. He'll be supposin' they ain't likely to kum back arter him; an'
I reck'n they won't, seein' they've got all out o' him they need care
for. Still, what ked he do stayin' hyar by himself?"

Walt is still ignorant of the peon's partiality for his own sweetheart.
He has had a suspicion of something, but not the deep, dire passion that
burns in the Indian's heart. Aware of this, he would not dwell on the
probability of the man having any intention, any more than himself,
remain behind now that Conchita is gone.

"Arter all," he continues, still speaking in half soliloquy, "I don't
think stayin's his game. There's somethin' else at the bottom on't."

"Can Uraga have sent him back on any errand?"

"No, that ain't it eyther. More like he's good on a errand o' his own.
I reckon I ken guess it no