Nor could one see very far through the living screens.
Patches was on the point of going, when he heard voices and the sound of horses' feet somewhere above.

For a moment he sat silently listening.
Then he realized that the riders were approaching, down one of the cattle trails.

A moment more, and he thought he recognized one of the voices.

There was a low, murmuring, whining tone, and then a rough, heavy voice, raised seemingly in anger.

Patches felt sure, now, that he knew the speakers; and, obeying one of those impulses that so often prompted his actions, he slipped quietly into the dense growth on the side of the glade opposite the approaching riders.