“Is this the knoll ahead here?” asked the chief.
Dimond nodded.
“Quietly, then. Byers, you wait here with the horses.”
The same individual spirit which makes our little American army what it is, was in these workingmen. Every one understood perfectly that he must get to the top of that knoll as silently as the thing could be done, and acted accordingly. Orders were not needed. There were slopes of shelving rock to be ascended, there were bits of real climbing to be managed. But the distance was not very great, and it took but a quarter of an hour or so. Then they found themselves on the summit, and made themselves comfortable among the rocks, spreading out so that they could command every approach. Carhart took Dimond to the top of the southeasterly slope and pointed out to him the knoll opposite, the hollow between, the camp a third of a mile away of Flagg and his cheerful crew, the trestle, the river, and their own dim camp on the farther slope. He repeated his instructions for the last time. “Lie quiet until noon of the day after to-morrow—not a sound, understand; not so much as the top of a hat to show. It will be a hard pull, but you’ve got to do it.”
“Yes, sir.”
“At that time, if you hear nothing further from me, take your men down there along the slope, give Flagg one chance to withdraw, and if he refuses, close in across the hollow behind the rocks. Mr. Haddon will do the same. After that if they try to rush you, shoot. The men from camp will be working out across the trestle and up the hill at the same time.—Here it is, written down. Put it in your pocket. And mind, not a shot, not so much as a stone thrown, before noon of day after to-morrow, excepting in self-defence. Understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Now come down the slope here, on the other side—where we can’t be seen from Flagg’s camp. You have your lantern?”
“Here.”
“Light it, and flash it once.”