Chapter III

An Arrest



The Santa Fe trail was far too exposed to be safely travelled alone and in
broad daylight, but Keith considered it better to put sufficient space
between himself and those whom he felt confident were still watching his
movements from across the river. How much they might already suspicion his
discoveries he possessed no means of knowing, yet, conscious of their own
guilt, they might easily feel safer if he were also put out of the way. He
had no anticipation of open attack, but must guard against treachery. As
he rode, his eyes never left those far-away sand dunes, although he
perceived no movement, no black dot even which he could conceive to be a
possible enemy. Now that he possessed ample time for thought, the
situation became more puzzling. This tragedy which he had accidentally
stumbled upon must have had a cause other than blind chance. It was the
culmination of a plot, with some reason behind more important than
ordinary robbery. Apparently the wagons contained nothing of value, merely
the clothing, provisions, and ordinary utensils of an emigrant party. Nor
had the victims' pockets been carefully searched. Only the mules had been
taken by the raiders, and they would be small booty for such a crime.

The trail, continually skirting the high bluff and bearing farther away
from the river, turned sharply into a narrow ravine. There was a
considerable break in the rocky barrier here, leading back for perhaps a
hundred yards, and the plainsman turned his horse that way, dismounting
when out of sight among the bowlders. He could rest here until night with