"Hit'll kin'er make ye uneasy 'bout talkin' to fellers on the road, won' hit?" said Bud, who was the most sociable man in the settlement.
"Hit'll sharpen yo' judg-ment. The way you-all go on now you ain' fur off Mr. Baron fo' never suspectin' nobody."
It was this very quality in Bud that was playing into Pink's hands. Yarebrough, however, felt properly rebuked.
"Ah ain' had yo' experience, ye know. Ah never see but one marshal to know him."
"When ye do see one, an' yo' sho', never forget him. Hit's the only way. Here, take this mattock 'n pull those small rocks out, 'n pile 'em on this crocus-sack so's they won' make any trash on this-yer platform."
Bud did as he was bid, and the men worked quietly and steadily for ten minutes.
"Here she is," Pink whispered, at last, and peered excitedly into the cavern.
It was, as he had said, not very large, but large enough.
"Now pick up that sack with me an' tote hit in here. We mus'n' leave anythin' roun'. Here, this corner 'll do. Now bring me in that pipe 'n the little keg. We c'n leave all the tools here ex-ceptin' our axes. Axes looks well 'f we meet anybody goin' down."
"H'm," grunted Yarebrough once more, and scratched his head again. He stepped out of the cave on to the platform that Nature's hand had laid. The brightening light indicated the approach of dawn, though the sun had not yet risen. The mist was not dispelled, but it had grown thinner, and trees at some distance down the mountain began to have individual shape through the veil of dry haze that inwrapped them. The air was cool and sweet. The birds were singing, though still sleepily, but one in a tree over his head burst into a glorious heralding of the morning. Bud thrust his hands into his pockets and whistled softly. Pink roused him roughly from his reverie.