Sandy’s voice broke the next interval of silence. “What’s to be done now?”
“I’m going over to the outlaws’ camp,” declared Dick with grim decision.
“Do you mean to say you’d tackle ’em all alone, Dick? A terrible risk! They’d be sure to get you.”
“No, they’ll be too surprised to do anything. They won’t expect me.”
Sandy put one trembling hand to his face.
“I—I hate to think of it. You’d be all right if only Toma were with you. But alone—”
“I’ll set out right away,” said Dick, “and you needn’t worry, Sandy. I’ll promise to be careful. I won’t take any more chances than necessary. Perhaps I’ll find them asleep.”
He turned to go. Sandy sprang after him, seizing his arm.
“If anything happens to you, Dick, I’ll—I’ll feel that it’s all my fault. But don’t forget that I’m with you. If—if they should happen to take you prisoner, I’ll manage your release somehow.”
“I know you will, Sandy,”—in a smothered voice.
Dick stumbled forward through the shadows, his heart beating wildly. A mile to Burnnel’s camp. Not far! He’d move cautiously. He mustn’t fail now. Victory was in their hands.
The shadows were very dark along the ridge, and far below came the murmur of the river. From its darkened perch, an owl hooted dismally.
Though only a short distance away, Burnnel’s camp proved to be hard to find. It was darker than usual that night, owing to the fact that the sky was overcast. It is doubtful if Dick would have discovered the camp at all, had he not, after nearly an hour of beating futilely about in the underbrush, been attracted by the dull red glow of a dying campfire.
Stealing upon his enemies with a quaking heart, he had soon advanced within the circle of light made by the glowing red embers. Near the fire were stretched the forms of the two prospectors, while thirty or forty feet away lay the woman.
The camp slumbered. Conditions could not have been more favorable for Dick’s project. It would be easy to walk over, gun in hand, and awaken the sleepers. Neither of them would have the least opportunity to offer resistance.
“It’s dead easy,” Dick argued with himself. “I can’t fail. It’s all as easy as A, B, C.”
Yet he hesitated. He had planned his approach and knew exactly what he was going to do and say. But, somehow, it was easier to think about it than to act. Once or twice he started determinedly forward, but as quickly checked himself.