That 'auto' must have gone on up the canyon.
Morton knew nothing of the man on horseback who went down.

We'll cut across to Carleton's." Presently, the Ranger swung the chestnut aside from the wagon road, to follow a narrow trail through the chaparral.

To the artist, the little path in the darkness was invisible, but he gave his horse the rein and followed the shadowy form ahead.

Three-quarters of an hour later, they came out into the main road, again; near the Carleton ranch corral, a mile and a half below the old camp in the sycamores behind the orchard of the deserted place.
It was now eleven o'clock and the ranch-house was dark.

Without dismounting, Brian Oakley called, "Hello, Henry!" There was no answer.
Moving his horse close to the window of the room where he knew the rancher slept, the Ranger tapped on the sash.