We scanned the
opposite side for sight of MacRae, but saw nothing of him; he kept close
under cover.
"They're packin' up," Piegan murmured, with a dry chuckle. "I reckon
things won't tighten nor nothin' in a few minutes, eh? But say, damn if
I see anything among that layout that resembles a female. Do you?"
I did not, even when I focused the field-glasses on that bunch at that
short distance. Certainly she was not there--at least she was not to be
seen, and I could almost read the expression on each man's features, so
close did the glasses draw them up. And failing to see her started me
thinking that after all she might have given them the slip. I hoped it
might be so. Lyn was no chicken-hearted weakling, to sit down and weep
unavailingly in time of peril. Bred on the range, on speaking-terms with
the turbulent frontier life, her wits weren't likely to forsake her in a
situation of that kind.
While the light of day grew stronger and the smoke eddied in heavier
wreaths above, one of them swung up on a horse and came down the bottom
at a fast lope. We had no means of knowing what his mission might be,
but I did know that the square shoulders, the lean eagle face, could
only belong to one man; and I dropped the glasses and drew a bead on his
breast.
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