But Warner was grieved and exasperated.

It hurt his dignity to prowl on his knees through the dark.
They advanced about two hundred yards in a diagonal course along the side of the mountain until they came to a point where the cedars thinned out a little.

Then the sergeant whispered to the others to stop, rose from his knees, and Dick rose beside him.
"See!" he said, nodding his head in the direction in which he wished Dick to look.
Dick saw a number of dark figures standing among the trees.

Two were in close conference, evidently trying to decide upon a plan.

One, a giant in size, was Skelly, and the other, little, weazened and wearing an enormous flap-brimmed hat, could be none but Slade.
"A pretty pair," said Dick, "but I don't like to fire on 'em from ambush." "Nor do I," said the sergeant, "but we've got to do it, or we won't get the surprise we need so bad." But they were saved from firing the first shot as some one in the gully-- they never knew or asked his name--stumbled at last.