So for a third night we were compelled to seek sanctuary in the silent
canyons. And the third day brought us no better luck. At evening we were
constrained to admit that we were simply butting our heads against a
wall--with an ever-present possibility of the wall toppling over and
crushing us flat.
Altogether, we spent five consecutive days hovering around that
collection of law-enforcers, in imminent risk of capture. Each night in
the open was more cheerless than the preceding one, and each day brought
the same sense of futile effort at its close. Twice during that time the
Police camp moved, and we had to be wary, for they scoured the
surrounding territory with painstaking thoroughness. But we felt that
there was yet a chance for us to turn the tables, for Goodell was still
with the troop, and also Gregory; we saw them both the morning of the
fifth day.
"It beats me why they're pecking around over the same ground so much,"
Mac observed. "I suppose they're looking for us, but I'm pretty sure
they haven't had a glimpse of us for three days, and so I don't see why
they should think we're still hanging around. Logically, if we'd got
that bunch of money, we'd be getting out of the country. Lord, I do wish
those four would show their hand--make a move of some kind.
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