Up the ravine armed and murderous men were waiting and watching, ready to shoot down the youth they had trapped.
There were also armed ruffians on the barrier to the southeast. They had trailed Merry with the persistence of bloodhounds.
A full hour passed. The men above were making merry in a boisterous way. One of them began to sing. He had a musical voice, which rang out clearly on the soft night air. Strangely enough he sang "Nearer My God to Thee."
Could they be watching closely? It did not seem so.
Frank rigged his coat on the barrel of his rifle. On the muzzle of the weapon he placed his hat. Then, he lifted coat and hat above the rocks.
The ringing report of a rifle and the singing of a bullet. The hat and coat dropped. In the coat Merriwell found a bullet-hole. That settled it. There was no longer a doubt but that the desperadoes were watching like wolves.
Yet old Joe had been able to slip forth from the protection of those rocks and creep away.
More than ever Merriwell admired the skill of the Indian. Thinking that the old fellow had instructed Dick in the craft which he knew so well, Frank believed such knowledge had not been acquired in vain. Some time Dick might find it very valuable to him.
There was a hoarse burst of laughter from the watching ruffians.
"Well," sang back Frank, "what do you want?"
"Stick that thing up again. We'd like a leetle target practise."
"You'll have to provide your own target," Merry retorted.
"Oh, we reckons not! We'll stand you up fer one sooner or later," was the assurance.
Still they had not discovered old Joe. It seemed marvelous.
The night passed on. Another hour was gone when there came a sudden commotion far up the ravine, as if on the further outskirts of the ruffians. There were hoarse shouts, angry oaths, the rattle of shots, and then the clatter of iron-shod hoofs.
The ring and echo of those clattering hoofs receded into the night, coming back clear and distinct at first, but growing fainter and fainter.
Frank Merriwell laughed and lay still until the sound of the galloping horse had died out in the distance.
"Old Joe is on his way to the post-office," muttered Merry. "He took a fancy to acquire one of their horses in order to make better time."