The day drifted by swiftly, and Ralph found neither Dan nor the way out of the belt of timber. He was now weak from so much travelling, and was compelled to rest and partake of the scant lunch still left in the hamper Pompey had provided.
As night came on so did the storm, and with the first fall of rain he sought shelter under some over hanging rocks near the top of one side of the ravine.
It was anything but a pleasant position, and no wonder Ralph wished himself safe at home again.
The storm increased until the rain came down in a deluge, forming a good-sized stream in the basin of the ravine. Ralph was thankful that there was but little thunder and lightning.
Having found a dry place in a corner of the rocks, he was on the point of falling into a doze when a clatter not far off aroused him.
"It must be Dan," he thought. "Dan! Dan!" he cried, starting up. "Is that you?"
At the sound of his voice the clatter ceased, and only the violence of the storm broke the stillness. Then Ralph called again, that his brother might not go astray.
"Who calls?" The voice was a strange one, and the words were spoken with a Spanish accent. Ralph fell back in dismay, but it was too late, and soon the newcomer showed himself, riding a jaded steed, and carrying a long horse-pistol in his hand.
