For half an hour he waited, watching
and listening in vain. But as he returned to camp, and prepared to roll
his blankets about him, the strange impulse rose in him again abruptly,
never so strong, never so insistent. It seemed as though he were bitted
and ridden; as if some unseen hand were turning him toward the east;
some unseen heel spurring him to precipitate and instant flight.
Flight from what? "No," he muttered under his breath. "Go now and leave
the claim, and leave a fortune! What a fool I'd be, when I can't see
anything or hear anything. To leave a fortune! No, I won't. No, by God!"
He drew Cribbens's Winchester toward him and slipped a cartridge into
the magazine.
"No," he growled. "Whatever happens, I'm going to stay. If anybody
comes--" He depressed the lever of the rifle, and sent the cartridge
clashing into the breech.
"I ain't going to sleep," he muttered under his mustache. "I can't
sleep; I'll watch." He rose a second time, clambered to the nearest
hilltop and sat down, drawing the blanket around him, and laying the
Winchester across his knees. The hours passed. The dentist sat on the
hilltop a motionless, crouching figure, inky black against the pale
blur of the sky.
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