“You seem surprised. Did you, then, not expect them so soon?”
“I certainly did not; something must have gone wrong,” replied Buck, with a perplexed look. Then, as if some new idea had flashed upon him, “Now, look here, Brooke, I must ask you to trust me implicitly and to act a part. Your life may depend on your doing this.”
“The first I can do with ease, but as to the latter, my agreeing to do so depends on whether the action you require of me is honourable. You must forgive me, Rits—”
“Hush! Don’t forget that there is no such man as Ralph Ritson in these mountains. My life may depend on your remembering that. Of course I don’t expect you to act a dishonourable part,—all I want you to do just now is to lie down and pretend to go to sleep.”
“Truly, if that is all, I am ready,” said Charlie; “at all events I will shut my eyes and hold my tongue.”
“A useful virtue at times, and somewhat rare,” said Buck, leading his guest back into the cavern. “Now, then, Brooke, lie down there,” pointing to a couch of pine-brush in a corner, “and try to sleep if you can.”
Our hero at once complied, stretched himself at full length with his face to the light, and apparently went to sleep, but with his left arm thrown over his forehead as if to protect his eyes from the glare of the fire. Thus he was in a position to see as well as hear all that went on. Buck Tom went to the sick man and whispered something to him. Then, returning to the fire, he continued to stir the big pot, and sniff its savoury contents with much interest.