As darkness fell he crept down the gloomy chasm and waded across the creek; and then, with a stealthiness that not even an Indian could excel, he stalked Meshackatee's camp. He had retired within the cliff-dwelling, trusting to the watchfulness of his dog more than to any special vigilance of his own; and when Hall peered through the doorway he saw him sitting by the fire, deeply engaged in some mechanical task. In one hand he held a small bow with its string wound round a shaft which seemed to twirl in his grasp like a drill, and in the other he held some object that gleamed in the firelight and looked like a .45 cartridge. The dog 'Pache lay asleep on the far side of the fire, there was a whirring noise from the drill; and when Meshackatee looked up Hall was standing in the doorway with a questioning look in his eye. If Meshackatee noticed the rifle, held negligently at the hip, he concealed his knowledge well.
"Hello there!" he hailed, and the dog sprang up barking, his hair bristling forward with rage. "Aw, shut up, now, 'Pache!" rebuked Meshackatee indignantly, "you're a hell of a watch-dog, I swow! Come in, Hall; come in! Been looking for you everywhere! Shut up, you whelp, or I'll warp ye!"
He reached for a stick and the dog retired growling, skinning his teeth at the disturber of his dreams.
"Kinder startled him," explained Meshackatee, as Hall stepped inside, but McIvor spoke to the point.
"You've been looking for me?" he inquired. "Well, let's come to an understanding—are you still in the employ of the Scarboroughs?"
"Hell—no!" burst out Meshackatee with explosive emphasis, "I quit 'em two weeks ago. Their work got too raw for me."
"Then we can be friends," suggested Hall, holding out his hand and Meshackatee rose up and took it.
"You're whistling!" he said, "and I guess mebby you need one—how long since you had a square meal?"
"Well, some time," admitted Hall, "but tell me, first of all, have you heard any news from Allifair?"