They consulted as to where they were to spend the night. Old Mike was nervous, taking the activities of the spy to mean that they were to be thugged in the darkness. He told horrible stories of that sort of thing. What could be an easier way for the company to settle the matter? They would fix up some story; the world outside would believe they had been killed in a drunken row, perhaps over some woman. This last suggestion especially troubled Hal; he thought of the people at home. No, he must not sleep in the village! And on the other hand he could not go down the canyon, for if he once passed the gate, he might not be allowed to repass it.
An idea occurred to him. Why not go up the canyon? There was no stockade at the upper end of the village—nothing but wilderness and rocks, without even a road.
“But where we sleep?” demanded Old Mike, aghast.
“Outdoors,” said Hal.
“Pluha biedna! And get the night air into my bones?”
“You think you keep the day air in your bones when you sleep inside?” laughed Hal.
“Why don't I, when I shut them windows tight, and cover up my bones?”
“Well, risk the night air once,” said Hal. “It's better than having somebody let it into you with a knife.”
“But that fellow Predovich—he follow us up canyon too!”
“Yes, but he's only one man, and we don't have to fear him. If he went back for others, he'd never be able to find us in the darkness.”