"The rascals don't appreciate good singing," he said with a grin.
Charley's condition continued to steadily improve under the outlaw's careful ministrations and by nightfall, he was conscious once more and comparatively free from pain.
Night brought no change in the condition of the besieged. Watches were arranged as on the night before, and those off duty retired as soon as darkness had fallen.
"Do you believe in premonitions," asked Ritter, gravely, as he and Walter stood peering out of the windows. "Do you believe that coming events cast their shadows before them?"
"I hardly know," answered Walter, thoughtfully, "sometimes I almost believe that we are given warnings of coming events, but I can never quite convince myself that the happenings confirming, for instance, say a dream, are anything more than coincidences."
"A few days ago I would have laughed at such an idea, but all day I have had a vague presentiment of coming evil which I have found impossible to shake off," explained his companion.
"It's your liver, I dare say," said Walter cheerfully, "for my part, I feel that we are going to get out of this hole all right, and live happy ever after as the story books say."
"There can be but little happiness for me in the future, however, if we come out of this affair," said his companion sorrowfully. "Death, I sometimes think, would be the best thing that could befall me. I am a life convict, you remember, found guilty by a jury, and condemned to pass a life at hard, degrading labor in company with ruffians of the lowest, most debased type. It is not a future to look forward to with pleasure!"
Walter remained silent, he could not but admit the truth of the man's words and reflect upon the misery of such a life would naturally bring to a man of education and refinement like this one. "You might escape, go to some other state, and begin life anew," he at last suggested. "After what you have done for us, and believing you innocent as we now do, we should do all we could to help you to get away."
"The life of a fugitive would be worse than that of a convict," declared the other bitterly. "In every face I would read suspicion, and dread of detection and arrest would haunt me all the time."