“Not so good, son! Not so good!” approved Big John whismically. “You sorter hang back, then, an’ git away when you kin. Try along the base of them mountains. I think Sid rode off that way when he left us. You leave them greasers to us! They won’t bother you none! C’mon, fellers, le’s get movin’. We ain’t got _all_ the time there is!” Through Niltci he signified assent to Hano’s plan. They started across the sands for the notch which now lay in plain daylight before them glowing with the colors of the rising sun. Gradually the three ahead urged their ponies to a gallop, twisting and turning through the patches of choyas and spiny barrel cactus. Scotty fell behind, Ruler on his leash loping along beside him. As dense groves of mesquite barred their path he let himself get separated from the others and worked over toward the mountain base, keeping cover constantly between him and the party ahead. In five minutes Scotty was completely lost to them. After a time he came upon lone pony tracks in the sand. Beside them had trotted Blaze’s footprints. Here was where Sid had gone toward the mountain. Sheep hunting, no doubt, Scotty conjectured, for he knew that Sid liked to hunt alone. Nearer and nearer came the abrupt flanks of the mountains. Steep and rugged, rising in towering masses, the rocky flanks rolled up high above Scotty. Somewhere up there Sid had climbed, he was sure. Presently he came upon a game trail, winding along in the sand around the rocky outcroppings. Sheep tracks! Scotty rode on hurriedly now, the hunting ardor rising within him. Presently he came to a little patch of galleta grass, trampled down in a ring around a picket pin, where a pony had fed. The story was plain to Scotty. Sid’s pinto had been tethered here and had broken away after a time, probably because of thirst. No; the Apache had _taken_ him away, for here were his moccasin prints! Here were Blaze’s, too, coming from the mountains. It became more and more a puzzle to Scotty. What had really happened to Sid? It looked more than ever like treachery--foul play--to Scotty. Somewhere up on the mountain Sid had encountered the Apaches perhaps. He had been held by them, since he had not returned. But Hano had been here and had taken his horse. What did it all mean? For a time Scotty hesitated, thinking seriously of riding after Big John to bring him and Niltci here to get their judgment on this discovery. Then he saw the firm heel print of Sid’s hunting boot leading up the mountain side. The ardent impatience of youth at once overwhelmed him. Follow, and at once, he must! He put Ruler’s moist nose to the print: “_Sssuey_, Ruler!--Go get Sid!--_Sid!_” he hissed in the dog’s ear.