other stuff," returned Matt Gilroy.
Here the conversation came to a temporary end, for Nat Potts had produced a black flask, from which each of the men took a deep draught. Then Potts and Fetter started in to build a roaring fire at which all might dry their clothing, leaving Gilroy, the leader of the crowd, to do as he pleased.
Joe had listened to the talk with mingled interest and horror. It did not take him long to realize the truth – that these men were thoroughly bad, and that they had been mixed up in road robberies of the past and were contemplating another robbery some time in the future.
"They mean to rob the quartermaster of the fort, when he is bringing in the soldiers' wages from Rockspur," he thought. "And that leader is going to shoot down the colonel if he can. Who would imagine men could be so bad! And that leader seems to be educated, too!"
Joe would have been very much surprised had he known the truth, which was that Matt Gilroy, often called The Shadow, was a college-bred man, having passed through one of the leading institutes of learning of the Pacific coast. But, following this college career, Gilroy had forged checks and committed a burglary, in company with an old chum named Hickey, and then the two had left Sacramento "between two days." Hickey had immediately joined the "knights of the road" and been shot down, as previously mentioned. Gilroy had drifted first to the Mississippi and then to Denver, and had not gone into the mountains until later. Now he was at the head of a desperate gang, numbering ten or a dozen, who had already committed several "hold-ups" of importance.
Soon the fire was burning brightly, and the three men took off part of their wearing apparel, that the articles might dry. They had brought some food with them, and as they sat eating and drinking they continued to discuss their plans. Nat Potts, who was not over nineteen or twenty, was evidently something of a new member, and asked many questions regarding the organization, and as he took in what was told him, so did Joe, listening with "all ears," as the saying goes.
"They must be as bad a crowd as can be found anywhere," thought the youth. "I wonder what they would do with me, if they found out I had been listening to their talk? Perhaps they'd kill me on the spot." And he gave a shiver.
The thunder and lightning had gradually abated, but with the coming of night the rain continued as steadily as ever. Fortunately for the desperadoes, however, the rocks sloped away from the entrance to the cave, so that no water came inside, while the fire made everybody quite comfortable.
Hardly knowing what to do, Joe continued behind the rocks, taking care to remain in the shadow. More than once he was afraid one or another of the men would start to investigate the surroundings and that he would be discovered.
"I wish they would go to sleep," he said to himself. "Then I might get a chance to slip past them and their horses."
With great impatience he watched the men finish up their supper, get out their pipes, and fall to smoking. In the meantime the horses had been led to the opposite side of the cave and fastened to the rocks.
As Joe waited for a chance to get away he wondered what Darry and old Benson were doing. More than likely they were looking for him. But were they in that other cave, at the narrow passageway, or did the old scout know of this second cave and the secret entrance to it?
"If Benson leads the way around to here there may be trouble," he mused. "It would be better if I could get out and head him off. But if I do get out, how shall I turn to find the trail we were pursuing? In this darkness a fellow couldn't see his hand before his face."
At last Fetter threw himself down on a blanket to rest, leaving Gilroy and Potts still conversing earnestly by the fire. The two desperadoes talked in a low tone, so that Joe now caught but little of what was said.
The backs of both men were turned toward the side of the cave where Joe was in hiding; and, plucking up courage, the youth started forward on tiptoe, bent upon getting out of the cave before the men should make some move which would expose him.
Step by step he advanced, until he reached a point where he was within a dozen feet of Gilroy and almost as close to Potts. He hardly dared to breathe, and his heart thumped madly beneath his jacket. But the men continued to smoke and talk, unconscious of his proximity.
At the entrance to the cave the rocks were somewhat rough and the mist had made them slippery. Joe was crawling forward rapidly, when one foot slipped, and he pitched headlong, making considerable noise.
"What was that?" cried Matt Gilroy, and leaped to his feet. He had been gazing into the fire, and for the moment could make out little in the darkness.
"I don't know," returned Nat Potts. "Something moving around out there, I think." And the younger man reached for his pistol, which still remained in his belt.
As rapidly as he could Joe sprang to his feet. A good bit of his wind had been knocked out of him, but he felt that he must not delay, and he ran for the outer air gasping for breath.
"Hi! stop!" roared Matt Gilroy, catching sight of him at last. "Stop, I tell you!"
"A boy!" ejaculated Nat Potts. "He must have been hiding in here!"
"If he was he overheard too much," growled Gilroy. "Come, we must catch him by all means," and he ran after Joe, with Potts following.
CHAPTER IV
LOST IN THE FOREST
"I must get away from them!"
This was the one thought which surged through Joe Moore's brain as he dashed from the cave in the mountain. He felt that if he was captured it would go hard with him. Did the desperadoes learn that he had overheard their conversation, they might make his very life pay the forfeit.
Forward he pitched, into the rain and the inky darkness, not knowing in what direction and just then caring but little. His one idea was to put distance between himself and his pursuers.
"Stop!" he heard the men call, and heard the clicking of a pistol hammer. Then he reached some brushwood, and, crouching low, continued to move on. No shot came, for the reason that the desperadoes could not locate him with certainty.
At length Joe reached a clump of trees. Had he not had his hands before him he might have run into them head first. He glided around them, and then continued onward, down a slope leading into a broad belt of timber. Still with his hands before him, he advanced through the undergrowth and between the stately trees for a distance of several hundred feet.
He was now exhausted with running and with fighting the entangling vines, and had to halt to catch his breath. As he came to a stop he listened attentively, to learn if the men were following, but the downpour of rain drowned out every other sound.
Soaked to the skin, hatless, and still short of breath, he went on once more, feeling that he was not yet far enough from the cave for safety. He tried to steer a course in the direction of the cave where he had left Darry and the old scout, but whether he was successful or not he could not tell.
A hundred yards further and Joe came to another slope, covered with prairie grass. Down this he rolled in the darkness, to bring up in more brush below. Then he climbed out of the hollow at the opposite side, and, reaching a large fallen tree, sat down to rest and think over his situation. The tree lay partly under one with wide-spreading branches, so the boy was somewhat sheltered from the storm.
It must be confessed that Joe's heart sank within him as he reviewed the situation. Where he was he could not tell, nor could he form any definite plan for rejoining his cousin and old Benson. More than this, he was afraid that the desperadoes might come up at any minute
