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“He’ll have to hike some,” thought Bob, “if he’s going to get back to Rutherford to-night.” Then he turned his attention to the Greaser, who had not moved out of the sprawling position he was in. The ache in Bob’s muscles became almost unbearable. When the Mexican rolled and lit another cigarette as if he expected to stay where he was all night, he was almost tempted to drop off the ladder and let the worst happen., Bob’s perch on the tower was far from comfortable, so he hoped the conference going on below him would last no great length of time. The thin iron rungs of the ladder cut into his legs and his arms had begun to ache from the strain of holding himself in place without making any noise that would give him away. To add to his discomfort, he soon realized that although he could overhear clearly every word that passed between the figures on the ground it would do him no good, as they were talking in Spanish, a language in which Bob remembered Jerry could at least make himself understood. Since his arrival at the dam, the Eastern boy had made some attempt to pick up a working knowledge of it, but his time had been so short that he had not got very far. Therefore, only a word here and there meant anything to him and as these were simple words, they gave no clue to what was being discussed., But when Bob started to thank Feather-in-the-Wind for finding out what he had, the Apache stopped him. “Wait! More!” he said. “One my young men got keen eyes. Not dimmed by white man’s whiskey. He see Miguel go away from camp one, two, t’ree nights. He take something with him. Young man no follow. No worry him much. Perhaps go to-night. You want us follow?”.