ing up the mou

[Pinell Seufer]

Rong to resist, so Joe, taking off his hat, slowly arose until he was
able to peep through a chink between two of the big fragments which
sheltered us. For a moment he stood there motionless, and then,
tapping me on the shoulder, he signed to me to stand up too.

Peeping
between the stones, I saw, not fifty yards away, a man coming
carefully down the crater-wall on the side opposite from that
by which we ourselves had entered. In spite of his care, however, he
every now and then dislodged a little fragment of stone,
which came clattering
down the steep slope. It was one of these that had given us notice of
his approach. There was no mistaking the tall, gaunt figure, even
though the light of the sunset sky behind him made him look a
veritable giant. It was Long John Butterfield. He was headed straight
for our hiding-place, and it was with some uneasiness that I observed
he had a revolver strapped about his waist. In appearance he looked
wilder and more unkempt than ever, while the sharp, suspicious manner
in which he would every now and
then stop short and glance quickly all around, showed him to be
nervous and ill at ease. While Joe and I stood there silent and rigid
as statues, Long John came on down the slope, until presently he
stopped scarce ten steps from us beside a big, flat stone. There, for
a moment, he stood, his hand on his revolver, his body bent and his
head thrust forward, his ears cocked and his
little eyes roving all about the

crater--the picture of a watchful wild animal--when, satisfied
apparently that he was alone and unobserved, he went down upon his
knees, th
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