It was as if the sun were an artist, who, not satisfied with his efforts, changed and changed again the colors on his canvas, for each moment the tints and hues would fade or grow more intense as the shadows grew deeper, and the scene would seem quite different.,
What was to be done? There seemed no answer. At last an idea came to Bob. “Go quick,” he said to the Indian, “get help! Bring a gun. Perhaps we can shoot him! I’ll stay here and watch. You can go quicker than I. Hurry!”,
“I think he is right,” agreed Captain Wendell. “Once he’s in Mexico it will be a long time before he ever has nerve enough to slip back.”.
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