Silence. A silence welcome, but fraught with terror. Surely these blackguards must be sleeping. But the sleeper who guards a treasure and fears pursuit enjoys not a peaceful slumber. Westy moved one leg preparatory to taking a step. How fateful each well-considered step! He felt the ground with his bare foot—pawed it. A twig which his shoe would have broken gave a little under the soft pressure, but caused no sound. He moved his foot from it and explored the ground near by. Then he took a step.
He paused and listened, his heart beating like a trip-hammer. He craned his neck and could just see the low entrance of the cave. It looked to be just an area of black in the surrounding darkness. Should he—yes, he felt the ground with his sensitive foot and took another step.
And now he paused, baffled by a new difficulty. For the moment he knew not which way to go. The darkness had closed in and rendered all directions alike. He could not for the life of him determine in which direction the cleft lay. He glanced about puzzled by this new doubt. Then he thought he knew. He made a long stride now so as to cover as much space as possible without touching ground, feeling the earth cautiously as his foot touched it. Then he moved—momentous step. He was a yard farther from the outlaws than he had been. So far so good. He gathered courage.
Then a thought occurred to him. Suppose these ruffians were taking turns at sleeping. Well, then he must be the more careful. He took another long, carefully considered step and listened. Only silence. He was on his way and all was well. Again he stepped—a long cautious stride. His nerves were on edge, but he was buoyant with the sense of triumph, of achievement.
Then suddenly his blood ran cold, and he paused, one foot in air, and almost lost his balance. One of the men had coughed. And there was a sound as of one stirring. . . .
CHAPTER XVIII
WESTY’S JOB
Again Westy paused in frightful suspense. He knew that these men would not give him the advantage by calling, “Who’s there?” In another second he might be dead. Would he hear the shot, he wondered. Does a person who is shot hear the shot that lays him low? Would he know if he were shot—in the head?
He paused, unable to move a muscle, haunted by these ghastly thoughts. Some one was evidently awake and listening. Should he risk it and take another step? Suppose a twig should crackle. If he took a long stride he might possibly lose his balance. It seemed to him that his very breathing could be heard, that those ruffians could count his heart-beats.
He put one foot forward, felt softly of the ground with his bare foot, pressed the uncertain earth a little, then took another step and felt that he had removed himself still farther from peril. There was no sound, and he indulged the hope that the cough and the stirring had been in sleep.
He took several strides now and each was like a stimulant to him. He would not relax his caution, each step must be well considered, but he believed that he was moving in safety. He was, perhaps, fifteen feet from the tree, and his hope ran high. He began to think of his escape in the past tense and rejoiced in his achievement. If only his friends would not shout. . . .