Ned rose and walked slowly up the arroyo. He became aware that the night
was very cold and it told on his relaxed frame. He pulled up the serape
again, and now it was for warmth and not for disguise. He stopped at
intervals to search the darkness with his eyes and to listen for noises.
He might meet with an enemy or he might meet with one of his friends. He
was prepared for either. He had regained control of himself both body
and mind, and his ready rifle rested in the hollow of his arm.

He met neither. He heard nothing but the usual sighing of the prairie
wind that ceased rarely, and he saw nothing but the faint glow on the
southern horizon that marked the Mexican camp where he had met his
enemy.

He left the arroyo, and saw a dark shadow on the plain, the figure of a
man, rifle in hand, Ned instantly sprang back into the arroyo and the
stranger did the same. A curve in the line of this cut in the earth now
hid them from each other, and Ned, his body pressed against the bank,
waited with beating heart. He had no doubt that it was a Mexican
sentinel or scout more vigilant than the others, and he felt his danger.

Ned in this crisis used the utmost caution. He did not believe that any
other would come, and it must be a test of patience between him and his
enemy. Whoever showed his head first would be likely to lose in the duel
for life. He pressed himself closer and closer against the bank, and
sought to detect some movement of the stranger. He saw nothing and he
did not hear a sound. It seemed that the man had absolutely vanished
into space. It occurred to Ned that it might have been a mere figment of
the dusk and his excited brain, but he quickly dismissed the idea. He
had seen the man and he had seen him leap into the arroyo. There could
be no doubt of it.