As remarked, Bill the Cherokee and Filditch had gone out scouting at daybreak. Ridge had given them particular instructions, and perhaps was thinking of them when he accomplished the enigmatical work described. It was presumably a signal message. The Yager was much too serious a man to lose his time in jokes. When he rejoined his men he said never a word on his doings, and no one questioned him; they do not question "the old man" of a party when out on the warpath with a variety of deaths at hand.
All the afternoon they marched on without anything notable happening except that a couple of bucks were killed, but shot with arrows, so that no noise was made.
About five p.m., a little after sunset, the band arrived where the halt for the night was decided.
It was on the edge of a rather wide clearing, as generally is the case, to prevent a surprise and attack under cover. Awaiting them, seated near a fire only just kindled, Filditch was puffing at a cigar.
The Cherokee Half-breed was not visible.
Old Jim put no questions concerning him, and did not even seem astonished at not seeing him.
A camp is not long being made by regular hunters. The two or three fires soon burnt up in that clear, smokeless, intensely hot way which is the despair of novices at camping. The supper being "put under the belts," everyone not on watch wrapped up in blankets, and went to sleep with feet to the fire.
At eleven o'clock Jim Ridge rose out of a reverie, went the rounds of the sentries, and finally dived into the underbrush, dropping at once so as to disappear promptly. As soon as he was well out of reach of the low firelight rays, he looked up at the sky and mountain tops to get his bearings, and then strode away, with wide opening of his long legs like one who knew thoroughly what he was about, and how the country was superficially formed.
His course was only an hour long.
Then he stopped at a rock overhanging a waterfall.