Hour after hour wore slowly away, and for the twelfth time Kingman returned, fretful and impatient, to his corner, as the light of day had not yet illumined the east. He sat a moment, when he heard Moffat move.
“Hallo! anybody about?” called out the latter.
“Yes, yes, I’m here! Do wake up, for your sleep seems eternal.”
“Fudge! Now don’t be in a hurry,” replied Moffat, kicking his blanket off from him. “Just take a peep at the door to see if there’s any light.”
“No, there is not a streak of day. I looked only this minute.”
“Look again. I’ll bet my rifle against your life you will see it this time.”
Kingman stepped to the door, and again looked forth. Sure enough, just over the eastern edge of the wilderness a gray, misty light was visible, and there was no mistaking its cause.
“Day is at hand, indeed!” exclaimed he, joyously. “Let us be off at once.”
“Not too fast, for there must be considerable more light before we start.”
The two men made noiseless but careful preparations for their journey. A burning pine knot afforded them a bright, though oily and smoky light. Their hunting shirts were buckled tightly beneath their girdles, from each of which protruded the handles of a couple of knives; their moccasins secured, and their rifles examined most minutely; and as Moffat looked around and saw that nothing else was wanting he blew out the light and the two men stepped forth into the open air. No one was yet visible stirring in the settlement, and they made their way cautiously toward the northern and largest block-house. It was yet so early and dark that there was no necessity of starting for a half hour yet. As they reached the block-house Kingman was surprised to find a considerable number of their friends already there. Among them he noticed Captain Parks, Wetzel, Stuart, Prentice, and several others.