He pulled up the serape again, and now it was for warmth and not for disguise.

He stopped at intervals to search the darkness with his eyes and to listen for noises.
He might meet with an enemy or he might meet with one of his friends.

He was prepared for either.

He had regained control of himself both body and mind, and his ready rifle rested in the hollow of his arm.
He met neither.

He heard nothing but the usual sighing of the prairie wind that ceased rarely, and he saw nothing but the faint glow on the southern horizon that marked the Mexican camp where he had met his enemy.
He left the arroyo, and saw a dark shadow on the plain, the figure of a man, rifle in hand, Ned instantly sprang back into the arroyo and the stranger did the same.