"I Wal, you'd be as crazy as Queen if you tried thet," declared Somers. "We're not out of the woods yet."
"I reckon not," replied Colter. "An' I've lost my horse. Where'd y'u leave yours?"
"They're down the canyon, below thet willow brake. An' saddled an' none of them tied. Reckon we'll have to look them up before dark."
"Colter, what 're we goin' to do?" demanded Springer.
"Wait heah a while--then cross the canyon an' work round up under the bluff, back to the cabin."
"An' then what?" queried Somers, doubtfully eying Colter.
"We've got to eat--we've got to have blankets," rejoined Colter, testily. "An' I reckon we can hide there an' stand a better show in a fight than runnin' for it in the woods."
"Wal, I'm givin' you a hunch thet it looked like you was runnin' fer it," retorted Somers.
"Yes, an' packin' the girl," added Springer. "Looks funny to me."
Both rustlers eyed Colter with dark and distrustful glances. What he might have replied never transpired, for the reason that his gaze, always shifting around, had suddenly fixed on something.
"Is that a wolf?" he asked, pointing to the Rim.
Both his comrades moved to get in line with his finger. Ellen could not see from her position.
"Shore thet's a big lofer," declared Somers. "Reckon he scented us."
"There he goes along the Rim," observed Colter. "He doesn't act leary. Looks like a good sign to me. Mebbe the Isbels have gone the other way."
"Looks bad to me," rejoined Springer, gloomily.
"An' why?" demanded Colter.
"I seen thet animal. Fust time I reckoned it was a lofer. Second time it was right near them Isbels. An' I'm damned now if I don't believe it's thet half-lofer sheep dog of Gass Isbel's."
"Wal, what if it is?"
"Ha! ... Shore we needn't worry about hidin' out," replied Springer, sententiously. "With thet dog Jean Isbel could trail a grasshopper."
"The hell y'u say!" muttered Colter. Manifestly such a possibility put a different light upon the present situation. The men grew silent and watchful, occupied by brooding thoughts and vigilant surveillance of all points. Somers slipped off into the brush, soon to return, with intent look of importance.
"I heerd somethin'," he whispered, jerking his thumb backward. "Rollin' gravel--crackin' of twigs. No deer! ... Reckon it'd be a good idee for us to slip round acrost this bench."