"They can’t have gone long," said Breakstone. "They may have thought that we were merely loitering behind for some purpose of our own and would soon overtake them. A whole train isn’t going to linger about for two fellows well mounted and well armed who are supposed to know how to take care of themselves. But, Sir Philip of the Youthful Countenance, I don’t think that Middleton and Arenberg would go ahead without us." "Neither do I," said Phil with emphasis. "I as good as know that they’re looking for us in these woods, and we’ve got to stay behind and find them, taking the risk of Comanches." "Wherein I do heartily agree with you, and I’m going to take a chance right now. It is likely that the two, after fruitless searches for us, would return here at intervals, and, in a region like this, the sound of a shot will travel far. Fire the rifle, Phil, and it may bring them. It’s often used as a signal. If it brings the Comanches instead, we’re on our horses, and they’re strong and swift." Phil fired a shot, but there was no response. He waited half an hour and fired a second time, with the same result. After another half hour, the third shot was fired, and, four or five minutes later, Breakstone announced that he heard the tread of hoofs. It was a faint, distant sound, but Phil, too, heard it, and he was confident that it was made by hoofs. The two looked at each other, and each read the question in the other’s eye. Who were coming in reply to the call of that third rifle shot, red men or white? "We’ll just draw back a little behind this clump of bushes," said Breakstone. "We can see a long way through their tops, and not be seen until the riders come very close. Then, if the visitors to this Forest of Arden of ours, Sir Philip, are not those whom we wish to see, it’s up and away with us." They waited in strained eagerness. The sounds grew louder. It was certain, moreover, that the riders were coming straight toward the point at which the rifle had been fired. "Judging from the hoof beats, how many would you say they are?" asked Phil. "Not many. Maybe three or four, certainly not more. But I’m hoping that it’s two, neither more nor less." On came the horsemen, the hoofbeats steadily growing louder. Phil rose in his stirrups and gained a further view. He saw the top of a soft hat and then the top of another. In a half minute the faces beneath came into view. He knew them both, and he uttered a cry of joy. "Middleton and Arenberg!" he exclaimed. "Here they come!" "Our luck still holds good," said Bill Breakstone. He and Phil galloped from behind the bushes and shouted as warm a welcome as men ever had. They received one equally warm in return, as Middleton and the German urged their horses forward. Then there was a mighty shaking of hands and mutual congratulations.