_si_, that one will come--no one can take his
mares from him! He will be mad with rage, too angry to be any longer so
cunning. We shall have him then. And there will be no more killings of
studs here."

At dusk Running Fox slipped down to the camp, but not far enough into the
circle of firelight to be sighted by any watcher in the night. Then with
Drew and Anse he was off again.

Within less than a quarter-hour Drew could have laughed wryly at his past
satisfaction in his prowess as a scout. Compared to this flitting shadow
he was a bush bull crashing through the brush. Anse was better, much
better, but even he was far below the standard set by the Pima. The trio
climbed, crept, crouched for long moments waiting for Drew knew not
what--some sound, some scent, some sight in the night which Running Fox
would accept as assurance of temporary safety.

The Kentuckian had no idea of how long it took them to reach the perch
into which they at last pushed. A breastwork of rock was before him; the
half circle of a shallow cave cut off a portion of the star-pointed sky
above. "Stay--here." The two words were grunted at them out of the dark.
Then nothing ... Running Fox had vanished in a way which could make a man
believe they had been escorted not by a living Pima, but by a ghost from
that long-forgotten race which had left their houses scattered in canyon
niches up and down this country.

It was cold, even though the half cave shielded most of the wind. Drew
unrolled the blanket he had carried tied about him, and he squeezed down
beside Anse. Their combined body warmth ought to keep them fairly
comfortable. Drew doubled his hands inside his coat, wriggling his gloved
fingers to keep them from stiffening.

"Sure do wish there was some way a fella could bring him a little
invisible fire along on a trip like this," Anse commented. "Ain't goin' to
be what I'd name right out as a comfortable night."

"Never seems to be any easy way to do a hard thing," Drew assented. He
hugged himself, his hands slipped back and forth about his waist. Under
his two shirts--he had added the second before he left the Stronghold--the
band of his money belt made a lump and now his hands ran along it.

He had had no occasion to open any of those pockets since he had left
Tubacca the first time. Now, to take his mind off immediate discomfort, he
tried to estimate by touch alone how many coins still remained in the two
pockets. The middle section of