Ned issued from the tent as he spoke, and walked at a rapid pace along the track leading up the valley, followed closely by Tom Collins, Larry O’Neil, and Bill Jones—all of whom were armed with rifles, revolvers, and bowie-knives. For a long time they walked on in silence, guided by the faint light of the stars, until they came to the flat rock which had formed the captain’s dinner-table. Here they called a halt, in order to discuss the probability of their lost comrade having gone up the ravine. The question was soon settled by Larry, who discovered a few crumbs of the biscuit lying on the rock, and footprints leading up the ravine; for the captain, worthy man, had stepped recklessly into the little stream when he went to fill his pannikin, and his wet feet left a distinct track behind him for some distance.
“He can’t have gone far up such a wild place as this,” said Tom Collins, while they moved cautiously along. “Kindle the torch, Ned, it will light us on our way, and be a guide to the captain if he’s within sight.”
“It will enlighten enemies, too, if any are within range,” replied Ned, hesitating.
“Oh, no fear,” rejoined Tom, “our greatest enemy is darkness; here, Jones, hand me your match-box.”
In a few seconds the torch flared forth, casting a broad glare of light on their path, as they advanced, examining the foot of precipices.
“Give a shout, Larry,” said Ned.
Larry obeyed, and all listened intently, but, save the echo from the wild cliffs, no reply was heard.
Had the captain been wide-awake at the time, he would, doubtless, have heard the friendly shout, but his ears were dull from prolonged watching. It was thought needless to repeat the cry, so the party resumed their search with anxious forebodings in their hearts, though their lips were silent.
They had not proceeded far, however, when the noise occasioned by the captain’s fall from the tree, as already described, struck upon their ears.
“Och! what’s that?” exclaimed Larry, with a look of mingled surprise and superstitious fear.