With a gun across her knees Moira sat and watched the development of the attack. For many minutes there was no sign or sound, till she began to wonder if a change had been made in the plan. At length some distance down the canyon and on the other side Sergeant Crisp was seen working his way with painful care step by step toward the rock of rendezvous. There was no sign of her brother or Dr. Martin. It was for them she watched with an intensity of anxiety which she could not explain to herself. At length Sergeant Crisp reached the crag against whose base the penthouse leaned in which the sleeping Indian lay. Immediately she saw her brother, quickly followed by Dr. Martin, leap the little stream, run lightly up the sloping rock and join Crisp at the crag. Still there was no sign from the Indian. She saw her brother motion the Sergeant round to the farther corner of the penthouse where it ran into the spruce tree, while he himself, with a revolver in each hand, dropped on one knee and peered under the leaning poles. With a loud exclamation he sprang to his feet.
“He's gone!” he shouted. “Stand where you are!” Like a hound on a scent he ran to the back of the spruce tree and on his knees examined the earth there. In a few moments his search was rewarded. He struck the trail and followed it round the rock and through the woods till he came to the hard beaten track. Then he came back, pale with rage and disappointment. “He's gone!” he said.
“I swear he never came out of that hole!” said Dr. Martin. “I kept my eye on it every minute of the last three hours.”
“There's another hole,” said Crisp, “under the tree here.”
Cameron said not a word. His disappointment was too keen. Together they retraced their steps across the little stream. On the farther bank they found Moira, who had raced down to meet them.
“He's gone?” she cried.
“Gone!” echoed her brother. “Gone for this time—but—some day—some day,” he added below his breath.
But many things were to happen before that day came.