At last we got down to the narrow bench which separated the canyon-slope
from the deep cut. It was level and roughly strewn with boulders. Here we
took to all fours and crawled. It was easy to move here without noise, for
the ground was rocky and hard, and there was no brush.
Suddenly I fairly bumped into the hunter. Looking up, I saw that he had
halted only a few feet from the edge of the gorge where I had climbed out
in my escape. He was listening. There was not a sound save the dull roar of
rushing water.
Hiram slid forward a little, and rose cautiously to look over. I did the
same. When I saw the cave and the spring-hole I felt a catch in my throat.
But there was not a man in sight. Dick's captors had broken camp; they were
gone. The only thing left in the gorge to show they had ever been there was
a burned-out campfire.
"They're gone," I whispered.
"Wal, it 'pears so," replied Hiram. "An' it's a move I don't like.
Youngster, it's you they want. Leslie's no particular use to them. They'll
have to let him go sooner or later, if they hain't already."
"What'll we do now?"
"Make tracks. We'll cut back acrost the ridge an' git some blankets an'
grub, then light out for the other side of Penetier."
I thought the old hunter had made rapid time on our way up, but now I saw
what he really meant by "making tracks.
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