his conjecture
was right, for the doorway or opening on his left hand conducted into a
spacious cave, also hollowed out of the earth, but apparently against a
perpendicular cliff, for the inner end of it was of unhewn rock. The
roof of the cave was supported by pillars which were merely sections of
pine-trees with the bark left on. These pillars and the earthen walls
were adorned with antlers, skulls, and horns of the Rocky mountain
sheep, necklaces of grizzly-bear's claws, Indian bows and arrows,
rifles, short swords, and various other weapons and trophies of the
chase, besides sundry articles of clothing. At the inner end of the
cave a large fireplace and chimney had been rudely built, and in this
was roaring the pine-wood fire which had lighted them in, and which
caused the whole interior to glow with a vivid glare that seemed to
surpass that of noon-day.

A number of couches of pine-brush were spread round the walls, and on
one of these lay a sleeping figure. The face was turned towards the
visitor, who saw at a glance that it was that of his former friend and
playmate--but it was terribly changed. Hard toil, suffering, sickness,
dissipation, had set indelible marks on it, and there was a slight curve
about the eyebrows which gave the idea of habitual pain. Yet strange to
say, worn and lined though it was, the face seemed far more attractive
and refined than it had ever been in the days of robust health.

Buck Tom went to the fire and began to stir the contents of a big pot
that hung over it, while Charlie advanced and stood for some minutes
gazing at the countenance of his friend, unwilling to disturb his
slumbers, yet longing to cheer him with the glad news that he had come
to succour him. He chanced, however, to touch a twig of the pine
branches on which the sleeper lay, and Shank awoke instantly, raised
himself on one elbow, and returned his friend's gaze earnestly, but
without the slightest symptom of surprise.

"O Charlie," he said at last in a quiet voice, "I wish you hadn't come
to me to-night."

He stopped, and Charlie felt quite unable to speak, owing to intense
pity, mingled with astonishment, at such a reception.

"It's too bad of you," Shank went on, "worrying me so in my dreams. I'm
weary of it; and if you only knew what a _terrible_ disappointment it is
to me when I awake and don't find you there, you wouldn't tantalise me
so. You always look so terribly real too! Man, I could almost p