After a long halt, partly passed in sleep, the march was resumed. Progress was necessarily slow, as the mules could not travel fast, and it was desirable that the party should keep together. The pass was wild and desolate; little appeared to denote that travellers ever passed that way, save here and there the skeleton of bullock or mule. As the shadows of evening fell, the travellers noticed that Hanif seemed to be more on the qui vive. The eyes of Denis and Walter naturally followed the direction of the Afghan's, as he glanced upwards towards the high cliffs which on either hand bordered the way.
"I say, Walter, I'm sure that I caught sight of two or three heads up yonder—not those of deer!" said Denis, bending from his saddle. "Don't you see something—just above the bush yonder?"
"I see," replied Walter. "Don't you know that it is the nature of vultures to swoop down on their prey?" As he spoke about a score of the powerful birds, napping their huge wings, rose from the carcase of some animal on which they had been gorging, disturbed by the travellers' approach.
"I have two double-barrelled guns and a brace of revolvers; I could give account of fourteen Afghans," said Denis. "I'll adorn my belt with the pistols, and a gun would be better in my hand than on the back of the mule. You look to the priming of yours. We're no dead sheep for the vultures to prey on."
Perhaps on account of the precautions taken, or the fact that the wild tribes of the mountain were at the time too much engaged in their internecine quarrels, to trouble armed travellers, the place for the night-halt was reached without any interruption, though not without several alarms. All the party were tired, with the exception, perhaps, of Denis, who had ridden when others had walked. A fire was kindled by Hanif; another, at a short distance, by the muleteers, who were soon engaged in cooking. Walter, on whom all travelling arrangements devolved, lighted a lamp, and looked after the horse and pony. None of the beasts were allowed to stray away from the little encampment. Grain for the horse had been brought with them by the travellers.
"We'll make Hanif our watchman to-night," said Denis, glancing towards the spot where he and the muleteers, smoking hookahs by their own little fire, formed a picturesque group.
"Never trust an Afghan," replied Walter. "You and I must play sentinel by turns."
"All right," said Denis, taking out his costly gold watch. "From ten to four, that will be six hours between us. I never care to sit up late when there's no dancing or fun to keep me alive, so you'll take the first turn—and mind you awake me at one."
Walter, who had walked during the greater part of the day, was exceedingly weary when he began his night-watch, and, long ere it was ended, found it almost impossible to keep his eyes open. He fed the fire, stick by stick, with the wood which he had made the muleteers collect. But it had not been easy to find much fuel, and before midnight no light was left but that of the small hurricane-lamp below, and the brilliant stars above. Walter thought of the pillar of glory over the camp of Israel, under whose calm radiance the multitudes had slept in calm security. That pillar was but the visible emblem of the power which was watching above him now. In present, as in olden times, He that keepeth Israel doth not slumber or sleep. With the thought came calm and restful assurance. Walter spent much of his time of watch in silent prayer.
At length the hand of the old watch which Mr. Gurney the missionary had left to his son, pointed to one. Walter went to the spot where lay the tall form of Denis, wrapped in a large luxurious cloak lined with costly fur. The youth stooped down, and tried to rouse the sleeper, first by his voice, then by his hand.