“A horrible place, truly,” said the Captain, “and one that it would be hard to find a fellow in even if we knew he was here.”
“Didn’t I say so, Captain? but ye wouldn’t be convinced,” said Hunky Ben, leading his companion into the full light of the opening and coming to a halt close to the ledge above which the fugitive lay. “Besides, Leather could never have found his way here alone.”
“You forget,” returned Wilmot, with a peculiar smile, “the monster might have shown him the way or even have carried him hither.”
“Ah, true,” answered the scout, with solemn gravity. “There’s somethin’ in that.”
Wilmot laughed.
“What a splendid view,” he said, going forward to the opening—“and see, here is a bed of pine brush. No doubt the cave must have been used as a place of refuge by the Redskins in days gone by.”
“Ay, an’ by the pale-faces too,” said the scout. “Why, I’ve had occasion to use it myself more than once. And, as you truly obsarve, sir, there’s small chance of findin’ a man once he’s in here. As well run after a rabbit in his hole.”
“Or search for a needle in a haystack,” observed the Captain, as he gazed with curious interest around and above him. “Well, Ben, I give in. You were right when you said there was no probability of my finding any of the outlaws here.”
“I’m ginerally right when I speak about what I understand,” returned the scout calmly. “So now, Captain, if you’re satisfied, we may as well go an’ have a look at the other places I spoke of.”
Assenting to this the two men left the place, but Leather continued to lie perfectly still for a considerable time after their footsteps had died away. Then, gliding from his perch, he dropped on the floor and ran to the opening where he saw the troopers still riding about, but gradually going farther and farther away from him. The scene was not perhaps, as the scout had prophesied, quite “as good as a play,” but it certainly did become more and more entertaining as the searchers receded and distance lent enchantment to the view.