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CHAPTER XII
AN INTERRUPTED INTERVIEW
“YOU come with me, Mrs. Gray!” commanded the woman who had lured Grace to capture. “I reckon you and me got somethin’ to settle.”
“I do not know what you mean, but I am ready,” announced Grace, rising. “Come, Emma!”
“You set where you be!” ordered Belle savagely.
Emma’s eyes flashed her resentment, and, for a few seconds, Grace feared that her little companion was about to do something rash. Miss Dean, who had started to rise, now settled back, face flushed, her whole body a-tremble, but more from anger than from fear.
“When I want you I’ll call you,” was the woman’s parting admonition as she turned away, nodding to Grace to follow her.
Belle led her captive off behind some rocks, within easy calling distance of the group of bandits who were still munching at their breakfast and at the same time keeping an eye on Emma Dean.
The instant that Grace could do so without being observed by the men, she thrust her hand inside her tunic and quickly transferred her automatic revolver to the right hand pocket. She was now walking along with both hands in her pockets, feeling more confidence in herself now that a means of defense lay within her right hand.
The mountain woman halted behind a wall of rock, and, leaning against it, surveyed Grace with malignant eyes.
“You Harlowe woman, what do you reckon I ought to do to you?” she demanded.
“I don’t reckon you’d better do anything to me, except to permit myself and companion to return to our camp,” answered Grace, lounging carelessly, scuffing the dirt with the toe of her boot, but not permitting her gaze to leave the face of the mountain woman for a second.
“What if I do?” Belle’s eyes blazed.
“I have friends who never will cease their efforts until you have paid in full, bitterly so, for what you may have done to me or to my companion, Miss Dean.”
“You threaten me?” demanded the woman, her hand slipping to the revolver that swung in its holster from her hip.
“No. I am simply stating a fact, and you know it,” calmly replied Grace.
“Why did you shoot my husband?” snapped Belle.
“Why did I wha – at?” gasped Grace.
“You heard what I said.”
“Who is your husband?”
“Con Bates. I’m Belle Bates, an’ I’m goin’ to see to it thet you settle for thet little job you did.”
“So, you are the wife of that highwayman, eh? I begin to understand. What is it you wish me to do?”
“Settle up right smart.”
“How?” questioned Grace, now smilingly.
“I reckon you got money or you wouldn’t be out on a trip like you be. You will write a letter to your friends, telling them to shell out all the money they have, to leave it in a certain place that I’ll tell you ’bout, then to get back to Globe as fast as hoss flesh will carry ’em, and then you all get out of the country, an’ stay out.”
“Do you believe they will be foolish enough to leave money for one of your gang to go and help himself to? I don’t believe you know my friends. Why, your messenger never could get away with anything so simple as that. Let us consider this matter. Suppose I do write the sort of letter you demand, and further, that, by this childish subterfuge, you get such money as our outfit has with it, what will be your next move? What do you then propose to do with Miss Dean and myself?”
“I reckon mebby I’ll let you go.”
“Mebby, eh? That is too indefinite, but I presume it is as good as the word of an outlaw like yourself can be,” replied Grace boldly. “Suppose I refuse to do as you request? What then, Mrs. Bandit?”
“I’ll serve you as you served Con, only more so.”
“How do you know my name?” questioned Grace, more for the sake of gaining time to further plan to outwit this woman, whom Grace fully believed meant to do something desperate, than because she cared to know. She saw, too, that Belle Bates was working herself into a high pitch of excitement and anger that might result in greater peril for her captives.
“Thet’s none of your business,” retorted Belle in reply to the Overton girl’s question.
“Let me suggest another plan. If you will send Miss Dean with the letter to my friends, I will write to them that they are to deposit, if they wish, a certain amount of money in whatever place you may designate.”
“See anything green in my eyes?” jeered the bandit’s wife.
“My plan is no more foolish than yours. I suggested it merely to prove to you that yours will not stand the test. Why, Belle Bates, if such a thing as ransom for me were suggested to them, my friends would throw your messenger out of camp and probably into Pinal Creek. They would then nose out your trail and they would follow you until yourself and every member of your thieving band were in jail or worse. You can expect nothing less, for you are as bad as the worst of your miserable outfit,” added Grace.
Belle Bates’ face was not pleasant to look upon at that moment, and her rage was rapidly getting the better of what little judgment she possessed.
This was exactly what Grace Harlowe was seeking to accomplish, to get her captor in such a rage that she would do something that would give Grace an advantage, nor did the Overton girl overlook the possibility that Belle Bates’ rage might lead to the woman’s using her revolver on her tantalizer.
Fortunately for Grace, the situation did not develop that way. With a cry of rage, Belle sprang at Grace Harlowe with clenched fists.
“I’ll fix that purty face of yours!” she cried, and launched a swift blow at her captive.
The Overton girl, smiling aggravatingly, had stood calmly awaiting the rush, and easily dodged the blow that the Bates woman struck at her.
At that point Grace Harlowe got into action. Her left hand shot out and was as swiftly withdrawn, holding in it the heavy revolver which she had snatched from Belle Bates’ holster. Grace instantly sprang back out of reach of those wiry arms, whose strength she already had felt, and pointed the weapon at her adversary.
“Put your hands over your head!” she commanded sternly. “Quick! Don’t utter a sound or I’ll shoot. Now back up against the rock behind you.”
“I’ll kill you for this!” fumed the woman. Belle Bates had been trained in the hard school of the mountains; she had faced weapons before, and she had seen others face them, as well as some who went down before them. One glance into the brown eyes that were looking along the barrel of her own revolver told Belle that Grace Harlowe meant what she had said and that she possessed the nerve to carry out her threat.
“Turn around facing the rock and rest your hands against it as high above your head as you can reach!” commanded Grace.
The woman obeyed sullenly.
“You will now call to Miss Dean to come here. Be careful how you do it, too, and remember what is behind you. I hope there is nothing behind me,” added Grace to herself.
Belle hesitated. Grace uttered another warning, a more insistent one, whereupon the mountain woman called to Emma Dean to come to her.
“Drop thet gun, an’ do it quick!” came the sharp command in a man’s voice behind Grace Harlowe.
The Overton girl’s heart seemed to leap into her throat. She felt a suffocating sensation there, her breath coming only with great effort, and she could feel herself going cold all over.
CHAPTER XIII
A STRUGGLE FOR LIFE
“OH, Grace, what is it?” cried Emma, who at this juncture arrived on the scene.
Grace Harlowe’s reaction came with Emma’s words. Whirling in a flash, Grace dropped to her knees just as the revolver of the bandit was fired at her. How the fellow had managed to get behind her without her knowing it, Grace was at a loss to understand.
A cry behind her now told Grace that the bullet intended for her had hit Belle Bates instead. It was now a question of fight or be killed, or both, so far as Grace was concerned, and, coming close on the discharge of the bandit’s revolver, she took a quick shot at the fellow, following it up with a second shot, as the bandit again fired.
The man staggered under the Overton girl’s second shot, and collapsed on the ground.
“Run!” cried Grace. “Run, Emma!”
Emma Dean paused hesitatingly, then darted away, but the instant she was out of sight of the bandits, Emma stopped short to wait for her companion.
Grace was still in the thick of trouble, but, though the wounded bandit, lying flat on his back, continued to shoot, the Overton girl was thankful that Belle Bates had no weapon to use on her.
Though the fight had been under way less than twenty seconds, the bandits were already running to the scene. Grace, following her second shot, had darted away, calling to Emma as she ran.
“Run! They’re after us!” admonished Grace as she came up with Emma.
A scattering fire of revolver bullets spattered on the rocks about them, but, by lively sprinting, they soon succeeded in placing substantial barriers of rock between them and their pursuers. The bandits, of course, possessed the advantage of long experience in this sort of warfare, but Grace’s mind was an alert one, quick to receive impressions and quick to react.
“I hear horses coming!” panted Emma.
“Yes. They’ve taken to the ponies. We must get where the ponies cannot conveniently go, and do it quick. Run on your toes. Be careful not to leave a footprint anywhere,” cautioned Grace.
It was soon apparent from the sounds, however, that the horsemen were overtaking the girls, though Grace felt reasonably certain that the bandits did not know where she and Emma at that moment were. In the circumstances there appeared only one way to avoid discovery, and that was to do some skillful dodging, which the two girls promptly did when the pursuers drew closer to them. Grace and Emma hid behind a rock, and, as the riders swept down toward them, moved step by step around it, so that the rock should always be between them and the bandits.
The outlaws swung by at a brisk gallop which left Grace and Emma to the rear of their pursuers.
“Run! We must find a hiding place,” urged Grace.
“Grace Harlowe, there is blood on your face!” cried Emma as they ran. “Were you hit?”
“I got a scratch on the head. A bullet scratched my scalp when I started to run away from the fight,” grinned Grace.
The way was now becoming more rugged, but the girls did not lessen their pace, and for nearly an hour they continued their plunging, stumbling sprint, at the expense of many falls and bruises, thankful that, thus far, they had succeeded in eluding their pursuers.
“I can’t go any further!” wailed Emma. “I simply can’t, Grace.”
“You must, Emma. This is too exposed a place for us to halt. There! What did I tell you?”
A rifle bullet had pinged against a rock close at hand, and ricochetted off with a weird zing – g – g – g, followed by the report of a rifle.
Emma suddenly forgot her weariness and, together, the girls fled from that danger spot. Now that their presence had been discovered, Grace decided to make another change of course, which she did instantly. It was a fortunate change, too, for it led the girls to the edge of the mountain. A few yards below where they were standing, Grace saw a shelf of rock jutting out, and rightly surmised that beneath that they might find a hiding place.
Getting to the shelf and underneath it, without leaving a tell-tale trail, was difficult, but they succeeded in accomplishing it.
“Lie down and try to get some sleep,” advised Grace, after the two had squeezed in under the shelf. “We are in no immediate danger here.”
Being on the verge of utter exhaustion, Emma Dean needed no urging, and almost immediately sank into a deep sleep, while Grace lay back with closed eyes, getting what rest she could, and reflecting over the exciting incidents of the last few hours. As for the bandit she had shot, she did not believe his wound to be a serious one. Grace had aimed for the upper left limb, and believed she had hit it. She had not had time to turn to see how seriously Belle Bates was wounded.
Nothing more having been heard of the bandits, Grace finally turned her attention to the important matter of getting back to the Overton camp. First, she got her points of compass from the sun, but this did not greatly assist her, not knowing to a certainty in which direction the camp lay. Not a familiar landmark could she find.
“Wake up! We must be going,” said Grace, gently shaking her companion.
“Grace dear, I’m so lame and stiff that I don’t believe I can walk.”
“Perhaps you prefer to remain here and starve or be captured again,” suggested Grace.
Emma got up, and said she was ready.
The two girls then started off as briskly as Miss Dean’s sore joints would permit. They continued on until four o’clock in the afternoon without finding the trail over which they had ridden to the mountain top.
“I fear we shall not find it, dear,” Grace finally admitted.
“Then what are we to do!” pleaded Emma. “I’m so hungry, so thirsty and so weary.”
“I have been thinking of that, and looking over the landscape at the same time. It seems to me that the second canyon over there should lead us somewhere near our camp. Look to your right and you will observe that the second canyon appears to merge into the one immediately in our foreground, so we will try to get down the mountain and work our way toward the point of intersection.
“We shall find water to drink in the canyon, and we must watch sharply for berries, of which I saw many when out picnicking. Other than a few berries, we cannot hope to get much of anything to eat until we reach camp.”
Emma groaned. They then began a cautious descent of the mountain, creeping from rock to rock, slipping and sliding, now and then at the imminent peril of being dashed to death on the rocks far below them.
“Here is a bush of mountain berries. Come and get them, but be careful not to fall,” Grace called to her companion.
Emma, upon reaching the bush, threw herself down beside it and ate ravenously, then suddenly realizing that her companion had not had a taste of the berries, she shamefacedly begged Grace’s pardon for her greediness.
The bottom of the canyon was in deep shadow when the girls finally reached it, though it was still daylight on the mountain top. A rippling stream of water at their feet, for the moment, put all other thoughts out of the minds of Grace Harlowe and Emma Dean, and they drank and choked until they could drink no more, and, after bathing their faces in the cold mountain stream, they arose from the brook greatly refreshed.
“That was almost as good as a meal,” declared Grace. “It will have to answer for my meal, because I failed to find more berries.”
Emma made no reply to this, but she thought volumes of uncomplimentary things about herself.
Now that the chill night air was settling over the mountains, the wound in Grace’s scalp began to stiffen and give her considerable pain, but she kept her suffering to herself, and, taking Emma by the hand, began trudging down the canyon, that already was in impenetrable darkness. They stumbled on for hours, until finally Emma gave out entirely.
“Grace, I simply cannot go another step,” she wailed.
Lighting a match, Grace peered into the face of her little companion, and she saw that Emma really was suffering from exhaustion.
“All right, little pard, we will camp right here. I wish I had a light. I lost my pocket lamp yesterday, but I am going to try to make a fire. You sit down and do the best you can while I feel about for the makings.”
After accumulating a few handfuls of twigs that would burn, Grace placed them beside Emma, and began feeling about for a suitable camping place. She found one under a projection of rock that had been worn out, perhaps by the high waters of centuries. There was shale and dirt under the rocky shelf, which Grace partly scooped out with her hands, and a few moments later a cheerful little fire was burning. By its light Grace cleared away as much more of the dirt and shale as possible, piling in green boughs in their place.
“Is it safe to have a fire?” questioned Emma apprehensively.
“No. We must have warmth or we shall freeze, chilled through as we already are. Get in under the rock and you will soon feel quite comfortable, I know.”
“Aren’t you coming in, too?” asked Emma.
“Yes, after I have laid in sufficient fuel for the night,” replied Grace. “As for the fire, you see I have laid it close to the rock, and I doubt if it could be seen from the top of the mountain.”
“I wish I could do things as you do, Loyalheart.”
“You could if you had to. There! I think we are fixed for the night, and now I will join you. Are you comfortable?” she asked, snuggling down beside Emma.
“I should be were we not in such a mess, dear.”
“Be thankful for small things, Emma. This really is quite comfy. All we need to complete our comfort are a few slices of bacon and a hot cup of coffee apiece,” chuckled Grace.
“Grace Harlowe, you are positively cruel to speak of it,” rebuked Emma. “For the moment I had forgotten that I was hungry, then you had to remind me of it. I could almost faint at thought of how hungry I am. Never, never again will I make fun of Hippy Wingate’s appetite. I never knew what a terrible thing an appetite could be.”
“I agree with you that it can be, in some circumstances,” admitted Grace. “Suppose you go to sleep now.”
“Oh, I can’t. I am too frightened,” protested Emma. “Isn’t it still, and isn’t the stillness in this canyon the noisiest thing you ever heard?”
Grace laughed merrily.
“You have expressed it exactly, little woman. Please get to sleep. I shall not answer another question, so do not ask any.”
Grace kept her word, and preserved a stony silence to all of her companion’s questions. Emma, soon tiring of asking questions that elicited no reply, ceased asking them and finally dozed off to sleep.
Grace Harlowe poked the fire and put on fresh fuel from time to time, keeping her lonely vigil, listening and wondering whether or not she would ever be able to find her way back to the camp of the Overton outfit.
Lulled by the warmth of the fire, and worn out from her trying experience, Grace’s head finally drooped until it rested on Emma Dean’s shoulder.
Grace awakened with a start, then sank back into a sound sleep, which lasted but a few moments. The support of Emma’s shoulder was suddenly withdrawn, as Emma, uttering a piercing shriek, leaped to her feet. Grace toppled over sideways, but was upright, wide awake in an instant.
In the light of the fire that was now burning low, she saw Emma, half standing, half crouching, her face ghastly pale, her body shaking as from a heavy chill.
“What is it?” demanded Grace sharply.
“I – I didn’t see, I heard,” gasped Miss Dean. “Oh, Grace, it was awful.”
“Tell me what frightened you!” insisted Grace in a severe tone of voice.
“Something screamed and wailed. It sounded like the wail of a lost soul. You know what I mean.”
“Never having heard a lost soul wail, I don’t. The mountain silence must have ‘got your wind up,’ as the soldiers say of a man who is frightened. Lie down and go to slee – ”
Grace got no further. The silent, surcharged air split to a piercing scream, followed by a frightful, blood-chilling wail of agony. It was with an effort that Grace restrained herself from leaping to her feet, as Emma Dean again screamed, but the cold chills were racing up and down her spine, her nerves partly out of control.
“I can’t stand it! Oh, Grace, Grace, save me!” Emma, weeping hysterically, threw herself into her companion’s arms as that nerve-racking wail of agony again woke the echoes of the canyon, this time seeming to be directly over their heads.
CHAPTER XIV
A NIGHT OF TERROR
GRACE HARLOWE was frightened. At least, for a moment, she felt her nerves giving way under the strain, and she feared she too was going to scream. Instead, she gave Emma Dean a severe shaking.
“Stop it, I tell you! You will have the bandits down on us next. Goodness knows we have trouble enough on our hands without again having to deal with those ruffians.”
“I don’t care. I prefer bandits rather than to have that terrible thing in the air over me,” cried Emma.
“It is an animal, though I must admit that the wail did sound like the voice of a woman in mortal agony. There it goes again. Steady yourself, Emma! Be an Overton girl!”
Emma Dean buried her head in Grace’s lap and again gave way to a storm of tears. Her whole body was jerking nervously, but Grace petted and coddled, and talked to her, until finally Miss Dean, in a measure, recovered her composure.
The wild, haunting, mournful wail was repeated. Emma shivered and so did Grace, despite her self-control, but both girls immediately recovered their composure.
The wail burst suddenly, appallingly close, seeming, to their overstrained nerves, to be right under the shelter that covered the Overton girls.
Emma Dean leaped to her feet, and was about to dash out into the canyon when Grace caught and hauled her back. At that instant, the heavy thud of padded feet striking the ground in front of the camping place was heard by both girls.
Peering over the little fire, Grace saw two yellow, ball-like eyes out there in the darkness. Emma discovered them at about the same time, but she made no sound, save a faint gurgle in her throat.
Here was something tangible, something to give battle to, and a peril that one could see and face had few terrors for Grace Harlowe.
The bandit revolver that Grace had taken from Belle Bates was cautiously drawn from its holster. Grace took steady aim and pulled the trigger. A heavy report crashed out, echoing and buffeting the canyon walls far up the dark mountain gorge.
Grace fired again, and, this time, a scream of rage or pain, neither girl could decide which, again set the echoes screaming up the canyon, but the yellow eyes were no longer there when Grace got a clear view of the scene.
“There! Your friend, the lost soul, has at least one bullet in his body. You see how foolish you were to be so frightened,” rebuked Grace, forgetful for the moment that she too had been on the verge of giving way to the terror inspired by those agonizing wails. “I am going to see what I can discover.”
“Please, please don’t leave me alone,” begged Emma. “I can’t stand it.”
“I am not going away, just out front. Remain where you are. That beast may still be lurking about.”
Grace stepped out cautiously, carrying a flickering firebrand in her left hand, the bandit woman’s revolver in her right, ready for instant action. Upon examining the rocks for traces of their terrifying visitor, she found fresh blood stains. A trail of drops led up the canyon from that point, but the Overton girl did not follow it, knowing that peril might lurk on that trail.
“Don’t ever say that I cannot shoot straight,” cried Grace as she returned to her companion. “I hit the beast.”
“What was it?” questioned Emma, still pale and disturbed.
“I can’t say for certain. I know I never heard anything so blood-curdling as that frightful wail. I have been thinking, and it seems to me I have heard that the mountain lion, or cougar, has the wildest, most agonized scream of anything in the western mountains.”
“Do you think he will come back?”
“I do not believe so. Were I in his place I shouldn’t. I will keep awake and watch. That is the prudent thing to do, so you lie down and sleep for the rest of the night.”
Once more Grace took up her vigil, and after a time Emma again dropped off to sleep. The excitement had set Grace’s head aching, and the scalp wound pained her frightfully. She tried to lie back and doze, but did not succeed. Suddenly three shots, revolver shots, she decided, aroused Grace to instant alertness.
Listening intently, she heard three answering shots.
“A signal! Emma, wake up!”
“Wha – at is it?” cried Miss Dean, starting up heavy-eyed, swaying a little as she got wearily to her feet.
“Shots up the canyon. They were signal shots, too. We must put out the fire and get away from here. Help me fetch water from the stream to douse the fire. Take your hat. Be lively!”
The fire being low, only a few hatfuls were necessary to extinguish it. This done, Grace threw boughs from their bed over the heap of ashes, then grabbing Emma by a hand fairly dragged her across the stream and on a few yards to the opposite base of the mountain.
“Climb, but be careful!” directed Grace.
The two girls scrambled up the mountainside until it grew so steep that they could go no further.
“Lie down!” directed Grace. Both were breathing heavily from exertion and excitement.
“I hear them!” whispered Emma.
“Yes. There appear to be several of them, judging from the voices,” answered Grace.
The approaching party halted a little way up the canyon, but the halt was brief, and the horsemen, as such they proved to be, moved on down, as it seemed to Grace, with greater caution, for she could no longer hear voices, only the soft hoof thuds of horses feeling their way in the black night of the canyon.
“They have stopped at our little camp,” whispered Grace. “I felt certain that they would smell the dead fire. Keep very quiet, and be careful that you do not dislodge a stone. If you do, we’re lost.”
A match was lighted down there, and for a few seconds the dim outlines of horses were visible to the watching, listening girls.
A low-toned conference followed, more matches were lighted, flickering here and there like scattered fireflies. Grace felt, rather than saw, that the men were examining the ground for trail signs. If so, they failed to discover the direction that the Overton girls had taken in their scramble up the mountainside.
“Aren’t they going?” questioned Emma.
“I think so. Keep quiet until we are certain. It may be a trick to lure us back.”
A few moments later the horses of the party were heard thudding down the canyon, and the two girls breathed with less restraint.
“Emma, I think those men were our bandits. I wonder!”
“Wonder what?”
“I wonder if they are not on their way to the Overton camp? Emma Dean, I believe we are in our own canyon, or near it!” cried Grace, a trace of excitement in her tone.
“Even if we are, we cannot find our way out in the darkness,” answered Emma helplessly.
“Yes we can. At least we cannot get far out of our way unless we climb a mountain, and that we shall not do. Let’s get down, but be as quiet as possible, for we must not be caught again. It will go hard with us if we are.”
“Suppose they should catch us?” questioned Emma anxiously.
“Those men are desperate, but if they get us again it will be after I have no shells left in my weapons.”
Grace began cautiously scrambling down the mountainside, followed by her companion, who exhibited less caution. The critical moment for the girls was when they reached the bottom, and for several moments after setting their feet on solid ground, they stood listening.
“Come! They have gone,” decided Grace, slipping a hand into her companion’s. “We will follow the canyon until we land somewhere.”
They picked their way as carefully as was possible in the darkness, but the going was so rough that Grace finally took to the little mountain stream, and plodded on down it, until the sound of a greater volume of water ahead caught her ears. She thereupon immediately stepped from the stream, proceeding with caution, and in a few moments they came to the stream that Grace had heard. There, the Overton girl felt about with her hands for a time, then lighted a match.
“Emma!” she cried, “do you know where we are?”
“No.”
“We are on Pinal Creek. We are almost home, little one, and our troubles are nearly at an end. Oh, I am so happy – and so hungry,” added Grace, laughing a little hysterically.
“I can’t believe it. Let’s run,” urged Miss Dean.
“Don’t forget that the bandits are somewhere ahead of us. I suspect that they are in the vicinity of our camp.”
Grace was anxious for her friends. No shots, so far as she had heard, had been fired by them, and she began to fear that perhaps all was not well in the Overton camp. They pressed on more rapidly now, finally reaching the creek side of Squaw Valley. No fire burned in the camp, nor could the girls see the tents, which was not surprising, for the night in the valley was almost as dark as in the mountain canyon that they had just left.
“The silence here seems charged with possibilities,” whispered Grace. “Keep alert, Emma.”
“I am, but it doesn’t seem to do any good. I feel wretched and frightened.”
“There they go!” cried Grace.
A sudden scattering fire of rifle shots somewhere out in the field made the girls’ nerves jump.
“There go our rifles, too,” added Grace, as a spirited fire sprang up at the point where the two girls believed their camp to be located.
“Oh, what shall we do?” cried Emma.
“Get into a safe place. We have no rifles and can do nothing to assist our friends.” Grasping Emma’s hand again, Grace ran back to the creek.
“Down!” she ordered as bullets began to rustle the leaves over their heads.
Both girls threw themselves down, and, with heads slightly raised, watched the flashes from the rifles. The outlaws were not riding this time, but were skulking, fighting Indian fashion, and Grace was now certain that the bandits that had been harassing the Overton outfit had returned for another attack.
The battle was being savagely waged on both sides, but who of her companions were taking part in it, Grace of course did not know. The first intimation she had that the fight was ended was when she saw four horsemen gallop down to the creek and head up the canyon.
“There they go,” announced Grace Harlowe in a relieved tone. “Hurry! Some one may have been hurt.”
Hand in hand the girls dragged their weary feet across the valley and up toward the camp.
“Do – do you think our people will shoo – oot at us?” stammered Emma.
“They may at that. I will signal them.” Grace fired three interval shots into the air, following it with the Overton hail, which was so weak that it barely carried to the camp.
“O-v-e-r-t-o-n!” came an answering shout from the camp.
Grace and Emma soon discovered the figures of two men approaching them at a run.
“Who’s there?” called the voice of Hippy Wingate. “Speak or I’ll shoot.”
