Mizzoo relapsed into meditative silence, and the young man, in sympathy with his mood, kept at his side, no longer asking questions. Darkness came on and the hour grew late but few words were exchanged as they rode the weary miles that marked the limit of the range. There were the usual incidents of such work, each bringing its customary comments. The midnight luncheon beside a small fire, over which the coffee steamed, roused something like cheerful conversation which, however, flickered and flared uncertainly like the bonfire. On the whole the young man was unwontedly reserved, and the other, perceiving it, fell back contentedly on his own resources—pleasant memories and rank tobacco.
"Guess I'll leave you now," remarked the young man, when the fire had died away.
"Yes, better turn in, for you're most uncommon dull you know," Mizzoo replied frankly. "'Twould be just about as much company for me if you'd hike out and leave me your picture to carry along."
Instead of taking the direction toward the river, the young man set out at a gallop for the distant mountain range which, in the gloom, seemed not far away. After an hour's hard riding, he reached it. His impatience bad made that hour seem almost interminable, yet it had not been long enough to furnish him with any clear reason for having come. If, as Mizzoo had declared, he needed sleep, he would surely not think of finding it near the cove from which his companions had been warned under penalty of death. If drawn by longing for another glimpse of the girl of the cove he could not expect to see her an hour or two after midnight. Yet here he was, attracted, and still urged on, by impulses he did not attempt to resist.
CHAPTER X
THE FLAG OF TRUCE
Earliest dawn found the young man seated composedly upon one of the flattened outcroppings of the bill of stone that lay like an island between the outer plain and the sheltered cove. As yet, there was no sign of life within the cove—both the dugout and the cabin of cedar logs were as silent and as void of movement as the rocks behind them. The young man watched first one, then the other, as tireless and vigilant as if he had not been awake for twenty-four hours.
It was the dugout that first started from its night's repose. Before the sun showed itself over the rim of the prairie, long before its rays darted over the distant mountain-crest, the door was thrown away from the casing, and a great uncouth man, strong as a giant, and wild of aspect as a savage, strode forth, gun in hand, his eyes sweeping the landscape in quick flashing glances. Almost instantly he discovered the figure perched on the granite block overlooking his retreat. He raised his gun to his shoulder.
The young man fell sidewise behind the rocks and a bullet clipped the edge of his barricade. Remaining supine, he fastened his handkerchief to the end of his whip and waved it above the rampart. Having thus manifested his peaceful intent, he rose, still holding the flag of truce above his head, and remained motionless. Brick Willock stared at him for a moment in hostile indecision, then strode forward. At the same time, an old man, thin, tall and white-haired, issued from the dugout evidently attracted by the gunshot; and soon after, the cabin door opened, and the girl of the cove looked out inquiringly.