After two hours of inaction, squatting miserably in front of his fire, he began to wonder if, after all, the outlaws had not abandoned the chase. In an effort to find out, he slipped gingerly over his barricade and scrambled down to the ledge below. He could command a good view here. His eyes roved the surrounding woodland. Everywhere he looked—but he could see no one. The silence was intense, deep, a sort of rhythmical beat pulsating through dead space under the vast dome of the sky.
His heart leaping with joy, he decided to quit his post and resume his journey. But something made him hesitate. An almost indiscernible movement along the slope below attracted his attention. He ducked quickly. A bullet whistled over his head. Angry and disappointed, he climbed back to the safety of the rocks.
How he would ever manage to endure the long and tedious wait for the coming of night, he did not know. The strain was so great that he decided more than once to walk boldly out and give himself up. Even death was preferable to this. Time after time, he rose and with bloodshot eyes stared out toward the west—to the broad, green expanse of the Pacific. If only Corporal Rand or Toma knew of his trouble, they would come to him. Sometimes, sitting moodily, chin resting in his hands, he thought of Sandy back at Settlement Mountain and wished that he were with him. Why had he been so eager to come in pursuit of the pack-train?
Night came as slowly as a limping beggar to a gate. Shadows deepened. Strange silhouettes appeared along the slope. Not a breath of wind stirred the trees below. The sounds of the forest were buried in the evening’s hush.
One hour more—and he would make his final break for safety. Impatiently, he rose and began pacing back and forth in the narrow, confining space, swinging his numb arms against his shivering body.
Suddenly, Dick’s hand went to his automatic in a quick, convulsive movement. But he did not draw his gun. Instead, he grinned sheepishly, staring at the dusky face which peered up from below.
The Indian girl smiled and clambered up to the perch beside him. She spoke in Cree:
“They did not see me come. I will help you. Does monsieur know where he is?”
With the few Indian words at his disposal, Dick endeavored to explain his case. He admitted that he had become confused. He could see the ocean, but it was still a long way off. In an attempt to escape his pursuers, he had been forced to travel in the wrong direction. How far was he now from her home?