As Sid passed below him then halted his pinto and waited, Scotty climbed on up and soon was peering through a ragged granite gap in the ridge. Below him fell away the bare, sage-strewn slopes and the low ridges of the foothills. Beyond that the great sun-baked plain of San Mateo lay like a floor. Up on its lonely hill, dim, in the blue distance, rose the school, yellow, and as Spanish as old Mexico. A mass of green around it told of water and of its permanent Apache colony. Scotty then searched the plain for signs of their pursuers. At first he thought they had followed them into the mountains, for the plain below was bare as a table. Then he drew back, with a shock of intense discouragement and misgiving, for his eyes had at last found them--riding along under the foothills, toward the _south!_ There were two of the Indians following Vasquez who was quirting his pony mercilessly. The third Apache had disappeared. “Gee!” groaned the boy anxiously. “He’s riding south! Toward the railroad! That means a telegram as soon as he can send one. And the third Indian is following _us_!” He scrambled down and told Sid his news. “Kick me for a rank tenderfoot, Sid!” he groaned. “Kick me from here back to camp, and then kick me clear on down to Pinacate! Gorry, but I let the cat out that time!” Sid grinned. “Buck up, old settler!” he cheered him. “I knew we were in wrong as soon as I saw that greaser schoolmaster. To give the Red Mesa plaque to some benign old priest to read, yes; but this bird was just a sinful man like the rest of us. The temptation proved too strong for him. Gee, but you handed him our dope, as innocent as innocent! Whee! Big John’ll think up something to do about it, though, and if he don’t we will. Remember, too, that Mexico is the land of _mañana_. I doubt if they even get any one started up from Sonora before we can make a fast push and get there first, old scout, so don’t worry. Besides, they can’t cross the border, unless a party of guerrillas does it. And--they’d have a lot of explaining to do to get the grant of a claim from the government unless regularly entered as immigrants through Nogales--which is further from Red Mesa than we are. Our job, now, is to keep an eye on this third Indian. He was sent after us as a spy, to keep track of us and report, you can depend on that. We’ll send Niltci after _him_.” Scotty rode on, more hopeful. Sid’s rugged cheerfulness was what he always needed to brace him up. The one strong note in his character was his indomitable Scotch persistence. He never let go a thing once his mind was set on it, but he was easily disheartened and set back, for he had yet to learn that nine-tenths of our troubles exist solely in our imaginations. It was nightfall when they reached camp. Not a sign had they seen of the third Indian, lurking in the hills somewhere behind them. That he had seen _them_ was quite to be believed; he was probably watching their entry into camp at that very moment!