To assure himself of obedience, he disengaged one hand from the blanket, and grasping his father’s sleeve, again composed himself to rest.
For some moments the Old Man waited patiently.
Then the unwonted stillness of the house excited his curiosity, and without moving from the bed, he cautiously opened the door with his disengaged hand, and looked into the main room.
To his infinite surprise it was dark and deserted.
But even then a smouldering log on the hearth broke, and by the upspringing blaze he saw the figure of Dick Bullen sitting by the dying embers.
“Hello!”
Dick started, rose, and came somewhat unsteadily towards him.
“Whar’s the boys?” said the Old Man.
“Gone up the cañon on a little pasear. They’re coming back for me in a minit. I’m waitin’ round for ’em. What are you starin’ at, Old Man?” he added with a forced laugh; “do you think I’m drunk?”
The old man might have been pardoned the supposition, for Dick’s eyes were humid and his face flushed.