"Yes, but doubtless the Indian made up on him, and whether they talked or not Pete could draw his conclusions. And a man like Pete, one of your coyote order of bad men, would just sit down and plot and plan——" "But even then," I said, "they can’t prove a thing that never occurred; they can’t prove that you did what you never did." He looked at me with lenient, sidewise eyes, not turning his head, and then pursed his lips and gazed before him again at the door, where Slim’s long back loomed against the storm-darkened sky. "All this," said he, "is guesswork, of course; for the sheriff is reticent and so am I. But as for _proving_, I dare say Pete could get a crony or two together to swear they saw me. O! But let this drop," he broke out. "If there’s anything that makes me sick now, it’s building up fabrications. Let us look on the bright side. Gather together your belongings and thank Providence for sending us the convoy of the sheriff to see us safely back to civilisation with our loot." "You ’re a brave man," I said. But he did not seem to hear. "What vexes me," said he, "is to think that Miss Pinkerton may have heard this yarn and placed credence in it." The entrance of the sheriff, with a serious face, put an end to the conversation then. "Well," said Apache Kid, "what do you think?" "I think this is a derned peculiar mountain," said the sheriff, "and I reckon you boys had better pack your truck. That hole ’s full." "Water?" said Apache Kid. "No," said the sheriff: "full of mountain. You can see the upward side of it jest sliding down bodily in the hole, props and all. They must ha’ had some difeeculty in it, the way they had it wedged. You noticed?" "Yes." "Well, it’s just closed up now, plumb. Went together with a suck, like this yere," and he imitated it with his mouth. "Reckon we better get ready to pull out, if needs be. What in thunder——" he broke off. Apache Kid, Slim, and the sheriff looked at each other. You should have heard the sound. It was like the sound of one tearing through a web of cloth—a giant tearing a giants web and it of silk. "The horses!" the sheriff cried; but the Indian had already gone. "How about yours, young feller?" I made for the door to follow the Indian and catch the horses, out onto the hillside—and saw only half the valley. The other half was hid behind the wall of rain that bore down on us. The Indian was ahead of me, scudding along to where the lone pine stood; but the terrified horses saw us coming and ran to meet us, quivering and sweating.