Wythe questioned whether or no to make known this circumstance to his comrades, but a fear for Jack Tyrrel's impulsiveness restrained him. That the young man had been deeply interested in the affair, he could not doubt, and were he to know that the strange maiden were alone, he might feel tempted to visit her. By this the reader is not to infer that he doubted Tyrrel's honor--far from it. But Wythe feared lest his impulsive nature should get them into trouble with the madman, and thus interfere with the gold-hunting. Thus the day passed away, and it was not until the middle of Duplin's watch, that any thing of moment occurred. Then he quietly awoke the two men, bidding them be cautious. Peering through the bushes, they could distinguish a small body of men, slowly moving across the mouth of the valley, seemingly trailing. The same thought occurred to each of the three men. Why this long and persistent search? Why delay the wagon-train an entire day to search for three deserters, whose passage-money had been paid in advance. This surprised them, even though they had guarded against the chance. These precautions, however, had been taken wholly upon account of the gold-pocket, not from fear of being forced to return, since they were free agents, and in no wise bound to the train. "Ha! look yonder!" muttered Wythe. "The wild-man!" This strange being could now be seen standing upon a huge bowlder, not far from the edge of the precipice, evidently confronting the party of emigrants, who had now passed from view beyond the hill-point. Curiously the three men watched his motions. They heard the report of Nathan Upshur's rifle, saw the wild-man stagger and almost fall, then leap to the ground and dash up the hill. Their next view of him was as he swung lightly across the almost perpendicular face of the precipice, hanging by the frail vines and shrubbery, or dropping from ledge to ledge, agile and sure-footed as the mountain-goat itself. Reaching the base, he darted swiftly across the valley, passing close by the gold-hunters' covert, uttering a low, growling sound that seemed more like the anger of a wild beast than the voice of a human being. "Did you notice?" muttered Duplin. "The blood was dripping from his breast. Those men yonder shot him." "It spatters the rocks out here. If they follow his trail, they must discover us," added Wythe frowning. "What difference? We're half white and free-born. They have no control over our actions," retorted Tyrrel. "True; yet this pick-ax, coupled with our desertion, would rouse their suspicions, or rather direct them into the right channel, and I fear we would soon have more partners than would be pleasant or profitable. I don't want to meet them, if I can help it," added Duplin.