Would they not believe rather that he had waded along the water’s edge headed west, hoping thus to escape to the bluffs, where some hiding-place might be found?  Even if they suspected a crossing, would any warriors among them be reckless enough to follow?  Would they not be more apt to believe that both fugitives had been sucked down into the treacherous stream?  Almost breathless Hamlin watched, these thoughts coursing through his mind, realizing the deadly trap in which they were caught, if the Indians suspected the truth and essayed the passage.  Behind them was sand, ridge after ridge, as far as the eye could discern, and every step they took in flight would leave its plain trail.  And now the test was at hand.

He saw them crowd about the coach, leaping and yelling with fury; watched them jerk open the door, and drag forth the two dead bodies, dancing about them, like so many demons, brandishing their guns.  A moment they were bunched thus, their wild yelling shrill with triumph; then some among them broke away, bending low as they circled in against the bluff.  They knew already that there had been others in the stage, others who had escaped.  They were seeking the trail.  Suddenly one straightened up gesticulating, and the others rushed toward him—­they had found the “sign”!  They were silent now, those main trailers, two of them on hands and knees.  Only back where the bodies lay some remained yelling and dancing furiously.  Then they also, in response to a shout and the wave of a blanketed arm, scattered, running west toward the gully.  There was no hesitancy now; some savage instinct seemed to tell them where the fugitives had gone.  They dragged the dead warrior from the ditch, screaming savagely at the discovery.  A dozen scrambled for the river bank, others ran for the pony herd, while one or two remained beside the dead warrior.  Even at that distance Hamlin could distinguish Roman Nose, and tell what were his orders by every gesture of his arm.  The Sergeant grasped the girl’s hand, his own eyes barely above the sand ridge, his lips whispering back.

“No, don’t move; I’ll tell you everything.  The stage has been gutted and set on fire.  Now they are coming with the ponies.  Most of them are directly opposite studying the marks we left on the sand of the bank.  Yes, they look across here, but the chief is sure we have gone the other way; he is waving his hand up the river now, and talking.  Now he is getting on his horse; there are ten or twelve of them.  One fellow is pointing across here, but no one agrees with him.  Now Roman Nose is giving orders.  Hear that yell!  They ’re off now, riding up stream, lashing their ponies into a run.  All of them?  No; quite a bunch are going back to the coach.  I don’t believe they are going to hang around here long though, for they are driving in all their ponies.”

[Illustration:  “No, don’t move!  The stage has been gutted and set on fire.”]