"Charley, him find him," he said with deep satisfaction. "Him mak' plenty trail. Much climb. Much ev'rything. So."
CHAPTER XXIX
THE LAP OF THE GODS
He looked like a disreputable image carved in mahogany, and arrayed in the sittings of a rag-picker's store. He was seated on the earthen door-sill of the hut where Kars was sleeping. He was contemplating with a pair of black, expressionless eyes the shadows growing in the crevices of the far side of the gorge. The occasional whistle of a bullet passing harmlessly overhead failed to disturb him in the smallest degree. Why should he be disturbed? They were only fired by "damn-fool neche."
He sat quite still in that curious haunch-set fashion so truly Indian. It was one of the many racial characteristics he could not shake off—for all his boasted white habits—just as his native patience was part of his being. Nothing at that moment seemed to concern him like the watching of those growing shadows of night, and the steady darkening of the evening sky.
The defences were alive with watchful eyes. The movement of men was incessant. The smell of cooking hung upon the evening air blending with the smoke of the cook-house fire. Only the sluices stood up still and deserted, and the dumps of pay dirt. But, for the moment, none of these things were any concern of his. He had been detached from the work of the camp. His belly was full to the brim of rough food, and he was awaiting the psychological moment when the orders of his boss must be carried out. Peigan Charley was nothing if not thorough in all he undertook.
It mattered very little to him if he were asked to cut an Indian's throat, or if he were told by Kars to attend Sunday-school. He would do as his "boss" said. The throat would be cut from ear to ear, if he had to spend the rest of his days in the penitentiary. As for the Sunday-school he would sing the hymns with the best, or die in the attempt.
Half an hour passed under this straining vigil. He had stirred slightly to ease his lean, stiffening muscles. The rough buildings of the camp slowly faded under the growing darkness. The activity of the camp became swallowed up, and only his keen ears told him of it. The pack ponies at their picketings, under the sheer walls beyond the cook-house, abandoned their restless movements over their evening meal of grain. The moment was approaching.
At last he stirred. He rose alertly and peered within the darkened doorway. Then his moccasined feet carried him swiftly and silently to the side of the bunk on which his "boss" was sleeping.