Dick went up a draw, where young pines huddled together in the trough;
and from the upper end of this he emerged upon a steep ridge, eyes and
ears alert for the least sign of human presence. A third shot had rung
out while he was in the dense mass of foliage of the evergreens, but
now silence lay heavy all about him. The gathering darkness blurred
detail, so that any one of a dozen bowlders might be a shield for a
crouching man.

Once, nerves at a wire edge from the strain on him, he thought he saw
a moving figure. Throwing up his gun, he fired quickly. But he must
have been mistaken, for, shortly afterward, he heard some one crashing
through dead brush at a distance.

"He's on the run, whoever he is. Guess I'll get back to Steve,"
decided France wisely.

He found his friend stretched on the ground, with his head in Arlie's
lap.

"Is it very bad?" he asked the girl.

"I don't know. There's no light. Whatever shall we do?" she moaned.

"I'm a right smart of a nuisance, ain't I?" drawled the wounded man
unexpectedly.

She leaned forward quickly. "Where are you hit?"

"In the shoulder, ma'am."