From that point he followed slowly and cautiously, keeping his distance and hugging the trail-side, and the cottonwood-trees. Yet Bernritter did not seem to have the least idea he was being followed. Not once, so far as Cayuse could discover, did he look back. Quite probably Bernritter was deep in his nefarious plans for the next day, and had no time to watch his back trail. Be that as it might, Cayuse found the trailing easy; and it grew easier when the sun went down and the evening shadows began to lengthen. At sunset Bernritter had crossed the Arizona canal, eighteen miles out of Phœnix. From there on the trail led across several miles of flat desert, and directly into the scarred and cactus-covered hills. The twilight favored the boy while crossing the level ground, and when they drew into the hill valleys he needed no favoring of any sort. The Indian instinct, born in him, made him as wary as a fox, and as quick and certain in his movements as a wildcat. Cutting pieces from his riding-blanket, he tied them about his pinto’s hoofs, thus muffling the noise of his own travel, and bringing out distinctly the ringing fall of the hoofs ahead. His trailing, through the gloomy gullies, was almost entirely by ear alone. Whether Bernritter was galloping, or trotting, or walking he knew at any moment, and he kept a distance that gave the hoof-beats in the lead the same volume of sound. Suddenly he heard the hoof-strokes come to a halt. On the instant Little Cayuse drew rein and backed silently into a cranny of the hills. Was Bernritter coming back to see whether he was being followed? He did not show himself, however; nor did the hoofs of his horse resume their clatter. Cayuse dismounted and slipped forward along the gully to investigate. Before he had gone far he heard voices, one voice Bernritter’s, and the other unmistakably that of an Indian. The Piute had no love for the Apaches, and a thrill shot through him as he realized that this redskin with whom the superintendent was talking must be one of the hated people. Then Cayuse had another thought: Why was Bernritter talking with an Apache--holding with him a pow-wow that had already lasted several minutes? Little Cayuse crawled closer, slipping through the loose stones like a snake. When he paused again, he was as near the two men as he dared to go. One was an Apache, and the boy was not slow to realize that his danger was greater than if he had been lying in the vicinity of two white men. From his last position Cayuse was able to see the dark form of the horse, and the upright figures of the men. While he watched, Bernritter turned to his horse and thrust his foot into the stirrup. “You _sabe_, eh?” Cayuse heard Bernritter ask the Apache. “Round up the warriors and wait for word from Bascomb. You’ll hear from him in two, three hour, mebbyso.” “Me _sabe_,” grunted the Indian.