"I sure thought I heard some one," he muttered. "It must have
been a bird."
He turned and started forward.
"Let's see, where was I? Oh, yes, three hundred and five, three
hundred and six, three hundred and----"
Again he stopped, but did not turn around. Instead he stooped
down as though to pick up a stone, which enabled him to look
backward between his knees.
He caught a movement in the grass at the edge of the right of
way.
"I thought so," he muttered. "Now to find out who it is, and what
he wants."
He picked up a small stone and threw it at a tall cactus which
grew near the track some distance ahead.
"Good shot," he said aloud as the stone hit the stalk. "I wonder
if I could do it again."
He stooped down and picked up another stone, taking a good look
backward from his stooping position. There was not a movement to
indicate the presence of a living thing.
"This is getting on my nerves," the boy mused as he picked up
several small stones and again walked forward. "I don't mind
being followed by a white man, but I'm a whole lot leary of these
greasers. They're bad enough when they're friendly."
Then aloud, as he threw a couple of stones: "I'll never get
anywhere if I don't make better time than this.
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