Gradually the blackness of the surrounding night changed to a leaden grey. Mistily thoughts swarmed through his brain. Then came a blank—Archer, too, was asleep.
Even yet was his dream haunted by a golden-haired girl, who struggled in the arms of a heavily-bearded refugee and countless Indians. The fight at the crossing was to be refought, the hand-to-hand struggle with the renegade, the sudden retreat, the dark intricacies of Free Trappers’ Pass, and the hurtling rifle bullet—all once more appeared ere, with the breaking morn, he arose from his hard couch on the level rock.
With keen eye he studied the windings of the path which he had followed to reach this resting-place; and anxiously he gazed around to make himself acquainted with the topographical intricacies of his retreat. As he was looking down upon the scenery below, Parsons, who had wakened, remarked:
“It’s a queer country this, ain’t it, now?”
“Yes, Jacob, it is a queer-looking country. This is, in one sense, a safe retreat, also. It would require a more than ordinary set of men to dislodge us by force of arms; but I am afraid it would not take long to starve us out—indeed, as far as I can see, that would be the only plan that could prove successful.”
“Don’t you be too sure of that. There’s a quicker way than that, if it ain’t a better one. This wall”—patting with his hand the rocky side of the recess—“looks amazin’ thick an’ stout, but six or eight good men could have her down in short order.”
Seeing the surprise of Archer, Parsons explained as follows:
“You needn’t stare so, it’s true. If you look sharp, you’ll see this rock’s limestun—right about here you’ll find lots of it.”
Sunlight suddenly stole over the face of Waving Plume, and the joy of his soul beamed out through his keen grey eyes.
“So near,” he exclaimed, “nothing save a few inches of rock to separate us—she must and shall be saved! Quick, tell me your plans, that we may at once begin the work, for delays are dangerous!”