Earliest dawn found the young man seated composedly upon one of the flattened outcroppings of the bill of stone that lay like an island between the outer plain and the sheltered cove.As yet,there was no sign of life within the cove--both the dugout and the cabin of cedar logs were as silent and as void of movement as the rocks behind them.The young man watched first one,then the other,as tireless and vigilant as if he had not been awake for twenty-four hours.
It was the dugout that first started from its night's repose.Before the sun showed itself over the rim of the prairie,long before its rays darted over the distant mountain-crest,the door was thrown away from the casing,and a great uncouth man,strong as a giant,and wild of aspect as a savage,strode forth,gun in hand,his eyes sweeping the landscape in quick flashing glances.Almost instantly he discovered the figure perched on the granite block overlooking his retreat.He raised his gun to his shoulder.
The young man fell sidewise behind the rocks and a bullet clipped the edge of his barricade.Remaining supine,he fastened his handkerchief to the end of his whip and waved it above the rampart.Having thus manifested his peaceful intent,he rose,still holding the flag of truce above his head,and remained motionless.Brick Willock stared at him for a moment in hostile indecision,then strode forward.At the same time,an old man,thin,tall and white-haired,issued from the dugout evidently attracted by the gunshot;and soon after,the cabin door opened,and the girl of the cove looked out inquiringly.