“No,” was the sensible response of her nephew; “the prospect of success will decrease with every passing minute. They will think, and with reason, that we have repelled their first attack so sharply that we are confident of beating them off altogether. After a time, when things begin to look bad for us, they will look for something of that nature, and be so well prepared for it that it will be hopeless.”
“He is right,” assented the captain. “I don’t ask you to try it, Avon, but, if you are determined to do so, now is the time.”
“My sentiments exactly, and I’m going.”
He dreaded anything in the nature of a scene, one reason for his moving so promptly being his desire to avert such a trial.
But now that the momentous step was decided upon, the all-important question remained as to the best means of making the start.
The whole interior of the lower story was so brightly illuminated by the blaze on the hearth that the moment the door was opened, even for only a few inches, it would show from the outside. Anxious as Avon was to be off, he knew better than to start under such conditions.
“The sooner that fire goes out, the better for all of us,” said the captain; “it is too tempting to the scamps.”
On the row of pegs near him hung several heavy blankets, such as are used by all plainsmen and cowboys. Those which the captain and his nephew meant to take on their journey northward were in camp five miles away.
Setting down his gun, he lifted one of the heavy pieces of cloth, whose texture, like the celebrated blankets of the Navajoe Indians, was almost close enough to be waterproof. He paused for a minute to adjust the folds, and then, forgetful of the danger he had run a short time before, he stepped hastily across the room, and stooping down flung the blanket over the blaze so as to enclose it entirely.