The change of position was a rest, in a measure, although the tight wrist cords kept Matt's arms numb clear to his shoulders. It had been a trying day, and Matt presently dropped off to sleep. The hour was late when he closed his eyes. Although he had no means of telling the exact time, yet he knew it could not be far from midnight.
A mellow chink as of metal awoke him. He opened his eyes and saw daylight shining through the window.
Siwash was at the table, humped over it and counting a small store of yellow gold. An old leather pouch lay on the table beside the coins.
Matt, cramped and in an agony of discomfort, was on the point of crying out and asking to be untied from the cot and put back in the chair, but he saw a head push across the window on the outside of the dugout, and the call died suddenly on his lips.
It was the face of Hackberry!
Hope arose in Motor Matt's breast. Hackberry was a friend, in some manner he had learned where Matt had been taken, and he had come to his rescue!
Scarcely breathing, Matt watched the face of the man at the window.
Hackberry was not looking at Matt, but had centred his attention on Siwash. The latter, finishing his count of the gold pieces, swept them from the table and into the pouch; then, crossing to the wall by the cupboard, he knelt down, removed a flat stone, and pushed his yellow wealth into its cache. After placing the stone in position once more, Siwash Charley got up and stepped toward the door.
Before he could open it, the door was pushed ajar in his face.
"Pecos!" exclaimed Siwash, startled.