It was not, indeed, until the fourth night of waiting that Plexo came along. This time he did not pass Jethro at all, and it was therefore certain that he had turned off from the main road either to the right or left at some point between the post of Jethro and that of Amuba. When this was determined they agreed, after a consultation, not to return to their hiding-places near Thebes that night, but to lie down under some trees by the roadside until morning broke, and then to examine the road carefully. It was not likely that another chariot would pass before morning, and they might be able to follow the tracks along the dusty road. In this way they discovered the road where he had turned off; but beyond this the tracks did not show, as the road was hard and almost free from dust. It lay, as they expected, toward the hills; but there were so many country mansions of the wealthy classes dotted about, and so many crossroads leading to these and to the farmhouses of the cultivators, that they felt they were still far from attaining the object of their search. After some discussion it was agreed that they should ascend the hills and remain there during the day, and that Jethro should return to the town as soon as it became dark to obtain a store of provisions sufficient to last them for a week. This was done, and the next day they separated at dawn and took up their places on the hills at a distance of about a mile apart, choosing spots where they commanded a view over the valley, and arranging to meet at a central point when night came on. CHAPTER XV. AMERES IS REVENGED. Six days passed without their watch being rewarded; then Chebron, whose post was just opposite the road where they had traced the wheels, saw a chariot turn from the main road into it. As many others had taken that course every day he did not at first feel very hopeful, although the time precisely tallied with that at which Plexo should have arrived had he started at the same hour as before. As it came near, however, he became convinced that it was the vehicle he was looking for. The horses tallied in color with those of Plexo, and the color of his dress could even at that distance be distinguished. This time, however, he was not accompanied by a servant, but by a figure the whiteness of whose garment showed him also to be a priest. “That must be Ptylus,” he said to himself, “my father’s murderer. Would I were down by the edge of the road, with my bow and arrows; high priest as he has now become, I would send an arrow through his heart!”