Gale stood guard. He seemed still calm, and wondered at what he
considered a strange absence of poignant feeling. If he had felt
weariness it was now gone. He coaxed the fire with as little wood
as would keep it burning; he sat beside it; he walked to and fro
close by; sometimes he stood over the five sleepers, wondering if
two of them, at least, would ever awaken.
Time had passed swiftly, but as the necessity for immediate action
had gone by, the hours gradually assumed something of their normal
length. The night wore on. The air grew colder, the stars
brighter, the sky bluer, and, if such could be possible, the silence
more intense. The fire burned out, and for lack of wood could not
be rekindled. Gale patrolled his short beat, becoming colder and
damper as dawn approached. The darkness grew so dense that he could
not see the pale faces of the sleepers. He dreaded the gray dawn
and the light. Slowly the heavy black belt close to the lava
changed to a pale gloom, then to gray, and after that morning came
quickly.
The hour had come for Dick Gale to face his great problem. It was
natural that he hung back a little at first; natural that when he
went forward to look at the quiet sleepers he did so with a grim
and stern force urging him. Yaqui stirred, roused, yawned, got up;
and, though he did not smile at Gale, a light shone swiftly across
his dark face. His shoulder drooped and appeared stiff, otherwise
he was himself.
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