"All fixed right, Charley?"
"Sho', boss. Him fix plenty good."
"Got sow-belly an'—hardtack? Maybe you'll need him. Gun? Plenty cartridge?"
"Him plenty—all thing."
"Good. Say, you need to get around before daylight. Good luck."
The Indian grunted his reply while he stooped again to release the rawhide painter. Then, with a nice sense of balance, he sprang lightly into the shell-like vessel.
John Kars waited only till he heard the muffled dip of the paddle. Then he withdrew, a sigh escaping him, an expression of pent feeling which had hope and doubt closely intermingling for its inspiration. He passed up to the defences for his second night's vigil. He had arranged that Abe should sleep unless emergency demanded otherwise.
The night passed without incident. Kars was thankful. It was so much valuable time gained. The labors had been hard following upon the night of battle. The whole garrison had needed rest. This had been achieved by systematic relief, which was almost military in its method. But sleep had been taken at the defences. There had been no relaxing of vigilance. Nor had the enemy any intention of permitting it. His loose fire went on the whole time, stirring the echoes of the gorge in protest at the disturbance of the night.
Towards morning Kars and Bill were at the water's edge, searching the black distance, while they strained for a sound other than the echoes of the spasmodic rifle fire.
"Charley'll find a trail, if he hasn't broken his fool neck," Kars said. "Guess he'd find a trail in a desert of sand that's always shifting. This darn gorge must be scored with them. If he don't, why, I guess we'll need to chance it up-stream past those workings."