Working steadily forward with the caution of an Indian, he followed and kept close to the eastern wall of the sink until directly back of the place where the trail guard should be, and in line with that and the lower end of the trail. His progress now became slow, and he exercised an infinite caution and patience. Cover followed cover, and every few yards he stopped and waited, his senses at the top pitch of their efficiency. Drawing near the position used by him and his men in guarding the mesa trail he passed within fifty feet of Luke Tedrue, and neither knew of it. Had he gone ten feet farther forward he would have died in his tracks. He stopped. It was now Art's or Frank's turn to show some sign of life. Neither of them had any need to remain quiet, and he knew that under such circumstances a man is almost certain to make some kind of a noise within a reasonable length of time. The minutes passed in absolute silence, and finally he could wait no longer, for each passing minute was precious to him, and he silently backed away, to approach from another direction. As he crept past a bowlder, avoiding every growing thing and every twig or loose pebble, he glanced along a narrow opening between some rocks and a thinning of the brush, and saw two sock-covered feet, toes up. It took him a long time to maneuver so that he could see enough of the body to be sure of its identity, and when he was sure he choked back a curse. "Fleming!" he breathed. "Knifed through th' throat! An' they took his pants an' left a pair of blue ones. Nelson wore black! An' Frank, up there on th' other butte--I can't get up _there_ without bein' seen. Frank, my boy; if yo're alive, you'll have to look out for yoreself!" As he crawled and wriggled and dashed back over his trail his racing thoughts threw picture after picture on his mental screen, until every possible solution was eliminated and only the probable ones remained; and from these two there loomed up one which almost bore the stamp of certainty. The CL outfit, either wholly or in part, had arrived on the scene, and even now might be attacking the ranch-houses. Dashing around a pinnacle of granite, he sped down the slope of the draw where Purdy, behind a thicket, awaited him. "Here, Tom!" softly called the waiting man, arising. "Quick!" panted Quigley. "H--l's broke loose with all th' gates open! What you find?" "Nelson's bronc. Th' two men that led it cached it in a draw an' went back again towards th' Buttes. "What's up?" "Everything, I reckon. Fleming's dead--knifed," panted Quigley, leading the way westward. "Frank--I don't know--about him. Never--had a chance--Art didn't. Good thing--I reckon we come--th' way we did. There--ain't no tellin'--what we might 'a' run--up ag'in. D--n 'em! I'll never leave--th' hills! Dead or--alive, I stays!" "I've located here--permanent myself," growled Purdy. "Fleming knifed, huh? Mebby--mebby they're Injuns! Knife-play an' moccasins! I--betcha!"