Before that they had heard a scream from the girl, which had rendered Clayton so frantic that Buffalo Bill’s utmost persuasions were needed to keep him from making a blind rush through the darkness. Had he done so he would have been shot, of course, by Black John, and perhaps the efforts of his friends would have been balked.
The hours that followed held nothing but mental torture for him. Nor were the scouts and his pards much less concerned for the security of the girl. They divined the situation: that the loss of the emeralds had been discovered, and that Black John was, as a consequence, in an unamiable and dangerous mood.
Black John, supposed to be keeping watch by the cave, was as silent as the men lying farther down on the bowldered slope. If he moved, or spoke, they had no knowledge of it; and the girl made no sound, after that scream which had reached them.
Bruce Clayton tormented himself with fears that she was dead—had been killed by Black John; or that Black John was even then out of the cave, and far on his way to some other point, and that Cody and his companions were guarding what was no better than an empty bird’s nest.
The morning came, after what seemed an interminable night; but the faint light of the early morning did not reveal Black John; and Bruce’s feverish fears intensified. But Buffalo Bill was not ready yet to make a move.
Only by combined luck and good work had he and his pards been able to follow Black John’s trail to the point where they had captured Toby Sam; and, after all that work, the scout was not willing to jeopardize anything by a premature movement.
Then something was seen to move on the slope.
It was Black John, rising from another night of watching.
Still Buffalo Bill and his pards maintained silence, waiting for the light to get better.
It was seen that Black John contemplated flight. He brought the girl out of the cave, tottering as she was with weakness; and they heard his harsh words to her.