out on the ground, leaning on his elbow, the other humped over where he sat on a rock, their eyes turned the other way, looking toward the trail which led southward and to French Meadows. Steele paused, waiting for Turk.
"See them?" he asked quietly. "Got a camp here, have they?"
"Been here two nights," returned Turk, his eyes with Steele's on the men down below. "Had me tied up since las' night. We can get the drop on 'em from here, Steele, make 'em throw up their hands an'—"
"And be forced to let them go or drop them when they start to make a break for it," cut in Steele. "Have they got any side arms, Turk?"
"Nope. Jus' one rifle, besides this'n."
"And that's leaning against a tree over there," said Steele, pointing. "They're mighty dead sure sort of cusses, figuring a man has got to travel back the same trail he went out on. Come ahead, Turk, and if you don't fall down, the river will cover any noise we make."
Slipping among trees and boulders, they drew nearer. The two men were talking, but the sound of their voices did not carry to Steele and Turk until they were within a score of paces of the meadow's edge. Steele, with a wink at Turk which set that individual staring again, put his rifle down quietly and nodded to Turk to do the same. One of the two men turned. …
There was a startled cry as the fellow lying down whipped to his feet and stared, doubly taken aback at seeing Turk freed and lumbering forward and witnessing the approach of a man who must be Steele, but who
