Almost exactly at the appointed hour Jerry awakened. He sat up, and, slipping a pair of Indian moccasins over his shoes, to enable him to move as silently as possible, he cautiously approached the mouth of the cavern, carrying two water pails with him.
The moon had gone down and it was quite dark, which was favorable to Jerry’s plans. As he got to the entrance of the cavern the boy looked toward the gang’s camp. There seemed to be no sign of life, and Jerry thought perhaps the sentry had fallen asleep.
As silent as a cat the lad made his way toward the stream, which he could hear gurgling and splashing over the stones. His throat was dry, for the last of the cold tea had been drunk, and his exertions had made him very thirsty. As he heard the sound of the brook he felt a fierce desire for water, so strong was it that he felt he would brave anything to get it.
Foot by foot he advanced, crouching down as low as he could. He was beginning to feel that he would be successful, and not be detected. He could see the sparkle of the water about three hundred feet away, and his parched mouth and throat seemed to be as dry as leather. He could hardly swallow.
On and on he went. Now he was about two hundred feet away and he was getting ready to make a dash for the brook.
Suddenly he heard a clicking sound, and knew it was a rifle being cocked. Next there rang out on the night air the command:
“Halt or I’ll fire!”
Poor Jerry was detected! He came to a stop, sick at heart at the failure of his plan.
For a moment there was no other sound. The boy could not see who had discovered him, though he instinctively felt the eyes of the man on him. Suddenly there was a shaking in the tree somewhat to Jerry’s left, and about one hundred feet away. Then came a rustle of the leaves on the ground and the boy made out the figure of a man, dimly, standing with rifle aimed straight at him.