“I always feel secure here; but I wish his days of vengeance would end. No rest, he says, until he has cleared Cut-throat of its curses. Sometimes, when I stand before him, and hear him talk of the oath of vengeance he has sworn to carry out, I almost wish that Tom Terror and his Thugs had murdered some one whom I loved, so that I could enter into the bloody campaign with him. But am I not helping? Did not the sight of the monster fire my heart with the torch of revenge, and did I not attempt the life which Hal seeks? Whom have I to avenge? I am a waif who drifted on a stray wave to this place. I never felt a mother’s kiss, and the strong old gold-digger whose roof sheltered me a long time, would not let me call him father.”
It was in the cave proper that these musings dropped in audible tones from the girl’s lips.
This apartment was lofty, commodious, and not illy furnished. A fire, evidently kindled some time prior to the girl’s present visit, burned in the middle of the floor and illuminated the place.
The walls gave evidence of encompassing a boy’s home. There were several rude and ghastly pictures of hanging scenes, and over each hung a dark cord to which a small leaden ball was attached. Beside such pictures as these, six long white marks were visible on the northern wall of the apartment. At the right hand was a long vacant place which seemed to have been left by the artist on purpose to fill up with marks at some future time.
“Hal has not been here,” said the girl, withdrawing her hand letterless from beneath the pillow of a cot that lay in the mellow firelight. “He went down to Custer to meet his Indian friend, Red Crest, but he said he would not be absent long. He cannot remain away a great while. I am eager to relate my adventure, and yet I am almost afraid to tell him that I disobeyed him by leaving the cave.”
A few minutes later the beautiful young girl lay on the cot with her eyes fixed dreamily on the fire. She formed a sterling picture for an artist, but only a magic brush could have laid in the wonderful colours of the scene.
An hour must have passed away before the girl moved. Then all at once, as if roused by a sound, she left the cot and leaped to a repeating rifle which her delicate fingers cocked as she lifted it from the ground.
But a figure came in sight as she sent a glance toward the mouth of the cave, and, with a cry of pleasure, the girl sprung forward.
“You did not think the Wolf had found the cave, Myra?” fell from the new-comer’s lips as he came forward, and revealed himself as the boy judge.
“I did not know who had come,” smiled the girl, glancing half confused at the rifle. “I have been waiting for you, for I have—”