He took off his own light jacket and wrapped it around Old Miquel. The Indian stirred again, showing signs of regaining consciousness. Encouraged, Dan began to chafe his cold hands, trying to restore circulation.
Time dragged on. The fire died down to struggling coals, leaving the cave colder and more terrifying than ever.
Dan huddled beside Miquel, watching the dark pool. He could hear the underground stream gurgling softly as it disappeared into the bowels of the earth. Now and then an object, a tree twig, a board or a leaf came floating in through the tunnel.
Already he had made minute inspection of the cave’s interior, finding only the remains of food stolen from the Cub’s camp. Obviously, Old Miquel had taken it to keep alive. Of worldly possessions, the Indian apparently had none except the clothes on his back.
Dan sat motionless in the gloom, acutely aware of a change in Old Miquel’s breathing.
The sound was plainer now, harsh and labored.
“He’s coming around,” the boy thought uneasily. “I sure hope he doesn’t make any trouble. I might not be able to handle him.”
Dan remembered Brad’s advice to quit the cave if Old Miquel caused trouble. But he had no intention of doing so except in a real emergency.
As the minutes passed, the Indian became increasingly active. At first, he merely tossed his head from side to side. Then suddenly he sat up, staring at Dan with strange eyes.
Dan’s heart began to pound. He checked an almost overpowering urge to turn and flee from the cave.