into the narrow channel when he suddenly cast a hurried glance behind him, uttered a “Madre de Dios!” and backed his mule and his precious freight against the bank.  The sound of hoofs on the trail in their rear had caught his quicker ear, and as the three partners turned they beheld three horsemen thundering down the hill towards them.  They were apparently Mexican vaqueros of the usual common swarthy type, their faces made still darker by the black silk handkerchief tied round their heads under their stiff sombreros.  Either they were unable or unwilling to restrain their horses in their headlong speed, and a collision in that narrow passage was imminent, but suddenly, before reaching its entrance, they diverged with a volley of oaths, and dashing along the left bank of the arroyo, disappeared in the intervening willows.  Divided between relief at their escape and indignation at what seemed to be a drunken, feast-day freak of these roystering vaqueros, the little party re-formed, when a cry from Barker arrested them.  He had just perceived a horseman motionless in the arroyo who, although unnoticed by them, had evidently been seen by the Mexicans.  He had apparently leaped into it from the bank, and had halted as if to witness this singular incident.  As the clatter of the vaqueros’ hoofs died away he lightly leaped the bank again and disappeared.  But in that single glimpse of him they recognized Jack Hamlin.  When they reached the spot where he had halted, they could see that he must have approached it from the trail where they had previously seen him, but which they now found crossed it at right angles.  Barker was right.  He had really kept them at easy distance the whole length of the journey.

But they were now reaching its end.  When they issued at last from the arroyo they came upon the outskirts of Boomville and the great stage-road.  Indeed, the six horses of the Pioneer coach were just panting along the last half mile of the steep upgrade as they approached.  They halted mechanically as the heavy vehicle swayed and creaked by them.  In their ordinary working dress, sunburnt with exposure, covered with dust, and carrying their rifles still in their hands, they, perhaps, presented a sufficiently characteristic appearance to draw a few faces—­some of them pretty and intelligent—­to the windows of the coach as it passed.  The sensitive Barker was quickest to feel that resentment with which the Pioneer usually met the wide-eyed criticism of the Eastern tourist or “greenhorn,” and reddened under the bold scrutiny of a pair of black inquisitive eyes behind an eyeglass.  That annoyance was communicated, though in a lesser degree, even to the bearded Demorest and Stacy.  It was an unexpected contact with that great world in which they were so soon to enter.  They felt ashamed of their appearance, and yet ashamed of that feeling.  They felt a secret satisfaction when Barker said, “They’d open their eyes wider if they knew what was in that pack-saddle,” and yet they corrected him for what they were pleased to call his “snobbishness.”  They hurried a little faster as the road became more frequented, as if eager to shorten their distance to clean clothes and civilization.