“Well,” he muttered; “you don’t have to come. I know I oughtn’t to take a moment’s time. I did quite a bit last night; but if you think–”
She glanced up, puzzled. His meaning flashed upon her, and she rose.
“Oh, not that! I will come,” she answered, and hastened to prepare the morning meal.
When they came to the tree-ladder, she found that the heap of stones built up by Blake to facilitate the first part of the ascent was now so high that she could climb into the branches without difficulty. She surmised that Blake had found it necessary to build up the pile before he could ascend with his burden.
They were at the foot of the heap, when, with a sharp exclamation, Blake sprang up into the branches, and scrambled to the top in hot haste. Wondering what this might mean, Miss Leslie followed as fast as she could. When she reached the top, she saw him running across towards an out-jutting point on the north edge of the cliff.
She had hurried after him for more than half the distance before she perceived the vultures that were gathered in a solemn circle about a long and narrow heap of stones, on a ledge, down on the sloping brink of the cliff. While at the foot of the tree Blake had seen one of the grewsome flock descending to join the others, and, fearful of what might be happening, had rushed on ahead.
At his approach, the croaking watchers hopped awkwardly from the ledges, and soared away; only to wheel, and circle back overhead. Miss Leslie shrank down, shuddering. Blake came back near her, and began to gather up the pieces of loose rock which were strewn about beneath the ledges on that part of the cliff.
“I know I piled up enough,” he explained, in response to her look. “All the same, a few more will do no harm.”
“Then you are sure those awful birds have not–”
“Yes; I’m sure.”