The marshal and Brant followed the direction of his pointing arm, but they saw nothing to make the matter clear—only a tiny ledge, fifty feet above them, along which grew a few bushes and clumps 209 of ground pine. It offered no hiding-place for a child even, hardly footing for the outlaw’s heavy bulk. But Uncle Dick shook his head to rebuke their lack of comprehension, then explained:
“Dan’s a keen un, all right,” he said, with grudging admiration. “But this-hyar time he’s done left ’is mark fer my ole eyes to see. Now, you-all jest throw yer eyes o’ vision up the side o’ the cliff ag’in. If ye looks cluss, ye kin see a streak o’ dampness on the rock. Hit’s jet as if a mounting rattler mout ’a’ dove down the rock right thar. But ’twa’n’t thet. Thet-thar streak is the mark of a wet rope—er mebby a grape-vine. Thet’s the way them devils git up an’ down. I’ll bet every stick o’ my mounting timber them cusses got a cave up thar, offen the ledge. P’rhaps Garry Hawks jest got up, since we-uns seen ’im. An’ the rock hain’t had time to dry from the rope, er vine, a-gittin’ wet in the falls. Dan Hodges thought he had a mighty cute place to lay out in. But he’s kotched jest the same—damn ’im!... Good dawg!” The change in Uncle Dick’s voice as he spoke the last two words was startling.
The two listeners accepted the old man’s solution, but they did not share his enthusiasm. On the contrary, they were very grave, for the task before them appeared formidable, if not impossible, of achievement. As they continued silent, gazing upward 210 with frowning faces, Uncle Dick regarded them at first in perplexity, then in rapidly-mounting apprehension.
“What’s a-bitin’ on ye?” he demanded, at last.
The marshal replied.
“There’s no way of getting them out of there. They’re armed and not particular about murder. They can hold that fort till kingdom-come. Dan could alone. There’s nothing for it but to starve ’em out—if they’re there.”
“And the trouble about that is,” Brant added, “that they’ve got the girl for hostage. It seems to me that this Dan Hodges has the whip-hand.”
For a little, Uncle Dick, who had paled under the tan, stood silent, looking helplessly from one to the other of his companions. Then he groaned aloud. But in the next instant, he straightened to his full height. His face grew convulsed with rage, as he faced the cliff, and his great voice volumed above the clamor of the cataract:
“God A’mighty damn ye, Dan Hodges! Damn ye—damn ye!”
And then again: