"Too loud," Piegan murmured. "Let's go back an' see."
We reached the river-edge just in time to hear the splashing die away;
and though we strained our eyes looking, we could make out no movement
on the surface of the river or in the dimly-outlined scrub that fringed
the opposite bank. Piegan turned on the instant and ran to where we had
tied our horses; but they stood quietly as we had left them.
"I got a hunch they'd got onto us, an' maybe set us afoot for a
starter," Piegan explained. "I reckon that must 'a' been a deer or some
other wild critter."
Once more we turned into the canyon, and this time followed its narrow,
scrub-patched floor some three hundred yards up from the river. It was
dark enough for any kind of deviltry in that four-hundred foot gash in
the earth; the sinking moon lightened only a strip along the east wall,
near the top; lower down, smoke mingling with the natural gloom cast an
impenetrable veil from bank to bank; not a breath of air stirred the
tomblike stillness. Directly in front of us a horse coughed. We dropped
on all fours, listened a moment, then crept forward. Without warning, we
found ourselves foul of a picket-line, and the vague forms of grazing
horses loomed close by. Piegan halted us with a touch, and we lay flat;
then with our heads together he whispered softly:
"We must be right on top uh them.
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