“The same,” answered the boy noticing at the same time with deep satisfaction the alarm in the other’s face. “He couldn’t give any one a chase now,” Kit exclaimed. “Because he’s limping along like an old woman with a crutch!” “He’s probably got a poor spark plug,” Jimmie commented. There were a good many furtive glances passed by both parties as the outlaws began to prepare for the night. They were given a shelter-tent by Jimmie, and saw fit to place it within a short distance of the _Louise_. The tent to be occupied by the boys was put up not far away. More wood was put on the fire as the darkness grew. The outlaws understood that they would need light in order to execute the wicked purpose in hand. Jimmie and Kit promised each other that they would not close their eyes in slumber even for a minute, but the day had been a hard one and presently Jimmie dozed off. Kit was still awake, but was inclined to let his chum sleep as long as he could keep his own eyes open. “There’s no use in both of us keeping awake,” the small boy thought. “I can just as well watch those fellows. Anyway, if Jimmie has the situation sized up correctly, they won’t go away without letting us know,” he continued with a grim smile. This reasoning was all very well on the part of the boy, but in five minutes he was sound asleep himself. It was ten o’clock before the outlaws emerged stealthily from their tent. There was no moon as yet, although there would be one later on, but the light of the stars was quite sufficient for them to look over the entire valley in which the _Louise_ lay. Once beyond the circle of fire they could see quite distinctly up to the rim of the thicket at the sides of the bowl. They conferred together for a moment, and then Mendoza crouched down on the ground, drawing Phillips with him and drew a revolver. “What is it?” asked Phillips. “There, at the edge of the thicket!” replied Mendoza. “There is some one creeping along the ground!” “It’s a dream!” declared Phillips. At that moment the figure of a man left the underbrush and crept cautiously down toward the fire. The outlaws secreted themselves in the shadows and watched him. He hesitated for a moment, just at the rim of the firelight, apparently listening for some indication of wakefulness in the tents, then he moved straight to the collection of provisions which had been prepared, and a portion of which had been left in view. “Guess it’s some hungry tramp,” suggested Phillips. “Is it?” replied Mendoza. “Just look again! That’s Graybill from New York. Look at the big shoulders and the blond head of him!” As Mendoza ceased speaking he gave a low whistle which the approaching man seemed to understand, for he straightened out of his stooping position and approached the provisions with confidence. In a moment he was greedily devouring meat sandwiches and drinking cold coffee, while Phillips and Mendoza were explaining the situation to him.