Paley Duplin turned his head and motioned to his companions. Jack Tyrrel at first seemed inclined to demur, but then, as though by second thoughts, he noiselessly began the perilous descent, followed by his comrades.
This was not accomplished without considerable difficulty, and, indeed, absolute danger, owing to the deceptive gloom, but, fortunately, the trio succeeded in gaining the valley in safety. Securing their rifles, they crossed this, and once more gained their covert, tired out and sore, yet feeling rewarded by the strange discovery they had made.
Tyrrel alone had little to say. That night's events seemed to have made a deep impression upon his mind, and while his comrades discussed the subject, he remained deep buried in thought.
Upon one thing he was determined, though he said nothing to his friends about it at the time. He must see this strange beauty again, if only to ask her if this sort of life was her own choice. Further than this he did not go, even in his own secret thoughts.
It was now nearly daylight, and the comrades agreed to remain where they were concealed during that day, lest the emigrants should institute a search for them. As all felt the need of repose, the day was divided into three watches, of which Wythe took the first, Tyrrel the second, and Duplin the last.
As may well be believed, by far the greater portion of the time, their gaze rested upon the face of the cliff, marveling at the secrets its bosom contained. But little rewarded this scrutiny.
True, during Burr Wythe's watch, the hermit, wild-man, or whatever else he might be called, descended the cliff, and set off down the valley. The young woman had accompanied him to the ledge that served as entrance to the cavern, and kneeling there, watched his progress until the hill-point concealed him from view. Then, with a long, lingering glance around, she turned and entered the hill-home.
Wythe questioned whether or no to make known this circumstance to his comrades, but a fear for Jack Tyrrel's impulsiveness restrained him. That the young man had been deeply interested in the affair, he could not doubt, and were he to know that the strange maiden were alone, he might feel tempted to visit her. By this the reader is not to infer that he doubted Tyrrel's honor—far from it. But Wythe feared lest his impulsive nature should get them into trouble with the madman, and thus interfere with the gold-hunting.
Thus the day passed away, and it was not until the middle of Duplin's watch, that any thing of moment occurred. Then he quietly awoke the two men, bidding them be cautious.
Peering through the bushes, they could distinguish a small body of men, slowly moving across the mouth of the valley, seemingly trailing. The same thought occurred to each of the three men. Why this long and persistent search? Why delay the wagon-train an entire day to search for three deserters, whose passage-money had been paid in advance. This surprised them, even though they had guarded against the chance. These precautions, however, had been taken wholly upon account of the gold-pocket, not from fear of being forced to return, since they were free agents, and in no wise bound to the train.