The first fires were far ahead, but they proceeded at a walk, their horses' feet falling silently upon the sodden ground. Not a word was spoken and they halted often to listen, for others, too, might be abroad. The distant fires were dying now, except a few, where men rose up to feed them. The braying of burros came in from the flats to the right and as the fugitives drew near the first encampment they could hear the voices of the night guards as they rode about the horse herd. Then, as they waited impatiently, the watch-fires died down, the guards no longer sang their high falsetto, and even the burros were still. It was approaching the hour of midnight, and as their horses twitched restively at the bits they gave them the rein and rode ahead at a venture. At their left the last embers of the fires revealed the sleeping forms of men; to their right, somewhere in the darkness, were the night herd and the herders. They lay low on their horses' necks, not to cast a silhouette against the sky, and let Copper Bottom pick the trail. With ears that pricked and swiveled, and delicate nostrils snuffing the Mexican taint, he plodded along through the greasewood, divining by some instinct his master's need of care. The camp was almost behind them, and Bud had straightened up in the saddle, when suddenly the watchful Copper Bottom jumped and a man rose up from the ground. "Who goes there?" he mumbled, swaying sleepily above his gun, and Hooker reined his horse away before he gave him an answer. "None of your business," he growled impatiently. "I am going to the pass." And as the sentry stared stupidly after him he rode on through the bushes, neither hurrying nor halting until he gained the trail. "Good luck!" he observed to Gracia, when the camp was far behind. "He took me for an officer and never saw you at all." "No, I flattened myself on my pony," answered Gracia with a laugh. "He thought you were leading a packhorse." "Good," chuckled Hooker; "you did fine! Now don't say another word--because they'll notice a woman's voice--and if we don't run into some more of them we'll soon be climbing the pass." The waning moon came out as they left the wide valley behind them, and then it disappeared again as they rode into the gloomy shadows of the cañon. For an hour or two they plodded slowly upward, passing through narrow defiles and into moonlit spaces, and still they did not mount the summit. In the east the dawn began to break and they spurred on in almost a panic. The Mexican _paisanos_ count themselves late if they do not take the trail at sun-up--what if they should meet some straggling party before they reached the pass? Bud jumped Copper Bottom up a series of cat steps; Gracia's roan came scrambling behind; and then, just as the boxed walls ended and they gained a level spot, they suddenly found themselves in the midst of a camp of Mexicans--men, saddles, packs, and rifles, all scattered at their feet.