Passing through the dense bushes, he had found himself upon the very verge of a steep precipice. Staggering back, he clutched the bushes, unmanned. "Look yonder!" cried Chicot, pointing downward. "_Now_ what do you say--is he a devil, or not?" Swiftly racing along the narrow valley far below, was the form of the wild-man. To reach this, he must have descended the precipice, and that seemed beyond mortal skill to accomplish. Wonderingly the emigrants watched him until he disappeared upon the further hill, then they slowly retraced their steps toward camp. The sun was far down in the west, and they had found no trace of the deserters. CHAPTER III. THE GOLDEN BED. The three adventurers, Duplin, Wythe, and Tyrrel, little imagined that at least one pair of keen eyes observed very closely their movements on that memorable night, as they noiselessly went about their preparations for their desertion. Jack and Paley were filled with golden visions of the enormous wealth that only awaited their coming to gather it up in handfuls, while Burr thought far more of pretty Lottie Mitchell, and how she would receive the tidings of the strange desertion, for it could be called by no other name. "Never mind--if the deposit is as rich as Paley declares, we can finish before winter, and then--" Wythe smiled faintly as a far-away look came into his handsome eyes. Even to himself he does not finish the thought, for, though he loved Lottie Mitchell with all his young heart, he had scarce spoken a score of times with her, during the journey. Still watched by Nate Upshur, the three adventurers silently left the camp and set forth upon their mission, all, even the rattle-brained Jack Tyrrel, feeling serious, for, truly, it was no commonplace step they were taking, and one that might well result disastrously. Turning, they cast a last look at the silent camp of the wagon-train that had for so many days been their only home, and then, led by Duplin, they disappeared beyond the ridge, still followed by Nate Upshur, who exhibited the skill and address of a veritable savage. After a rapid tramp of several miles, Duplin paused and said: "Now, boys, for a little headwork. First, shall we go on at once to the pocket?" "How far is it?" "Not ten miles, as the crow flies." "We can reach it before day, then?" "Yes--if we wish. But, frankly, I don't think we had better go there, at least not before to-morrow night." "Why so?" "Well, there is a risk. To be sure they may not think it worth while to make any search for us, when our disappearance is found out, yet still they _may_, especially as the most dangerous portion of the trail is near at hand. You see three rifles such as ours would count in case of an attack." "If I thought there was the slightest danger of that, I would return at once," suddenly cried Wythe, thinking of Lottie Mitchell.