“There aren’t a hundred stars out tonight,” Dick whispered to his two delighted companions. “Conditions couldn’t be better.”
“It has clouded over,” said Sandy. “Thank God for that.”
Out of the west had come a cool, moist breeze. If it rained, so much the better. Since their departure from Fort Good Faith, three weeks previous, the days and nights had succeeded each other with no hint of rain, a seemingly endless procession of sunlit and starlit hours.
“We ought to start pretty soon,” said Dick, as he paced uneasily, restlessly about.
“I’m ready any time you fellows are,” Sandy replied.
Ten minutes passed. The wind seemed stronger now and was blowing more from the south. Unable longer to endure the suspense, Toma plucked at Dick’s arm.
“Come,” he whispered.
Slowly, cautiously, three figures worked their way up and over the rough barricade of rocks and headed for the ravine.
“Keep close together,” cautioned Dick in a low voice. “Whatever happens, we mustn’t become separated.”
In a few minutes they had reached the edge of the ravine and prepared for the perilous descent. They had to feel their way now. Every step forward was tedious, conscious effort. The moisture-laden wind, breathing over the warm rocks, had produced a wet, slippery surface under foot. Careful as the three boys were, one of them slipped or fell occasionally, producing a sound which caused them to pause in consternation in the belief that the noise must have carried to the sentries below.