“Anyway, let’s have a fire,” the other urged. “We can dry out our clothes at least.”
While Ken did what he could to make Pedro more comfortable, the crew leader searched for suitable wood.
The matches had remained dry. Choosing a protected spot where a large boulder provided a windbreak, he built a small fire. Then, while Ken and Pedro warmed themselves, he gathered more wood. This he stacked nearby, intending to throw it all on, should there be any evidence that Hap’s party had arrived at the broken bridge.
The fire cheered the three and gave them a measure of reassurance.
“No attack yet,” Ken remarked hopefully. “Maybe those Indians intend to leave us alone.”
“Don’t count on it,” Jack replied. “They’re just being deliberate.”
Time wore on. Pedro slept fitfully, but Ken and Jack were afraid to doze off even for an instant. They kept the fire going and maintained a ceaseless vigil for their friends.
“Hap should be at the bridge by this time,” Ken said anxiously. “Something’s happened.”
Jack felt particularly sick at heart, blaming himself for the disaster that had befallen.
“We made our first bad mistake in not testing the bridge,” he said.