“Stand, or I fire!” he called.
But there came no reply.
He stood thus for a moment. There was nothing to be gained by discharging his piece at a venture in darkness like this. It might be heard anywhere, and furthermore would startle Nidia out of her wits. No, he would not fire.
“Who is it?” he called again, clear but low, so as not to be heard by the sleeper within.
For answer there came a far away, mocking laugh, harsh and long-drawn. Then silence.
With every drop of blood tingling in his veins, John Ames sprang within the cave again, for an awful idea had seized him. This thing must have been, right inside their hiding-place. His hand shook so that he could hardly get out a match and strike it. He bent down over the sleeping girl. She still slumbered—breathing softly, peacefully, but with brow slightly ruffled as though by dreams. He gazed upon her unconscious face until the match burned out, then turned away, filled with unutterable relief. No harm had happened to her, at any rate.
Then the first grey of dawn lightened upon the mountains.