Toward this open space the Mexican sprang with hoarse, excited cries.

The horses plunged back, snorting.

Yet in the little glade all Was silence, solitude.

Swiftly Franklin and Curly dismounted and made fast their horses, and then followed up the Mexican, their weapons now both drawn.
This glade, now empty, had once held a man, or men.

Here was a trodden place where a horse had been tied to a tree.