"It would help me a lot if they were not so close," laughed the hunter. "I don't need your contrasts, Robert, to make me rest. I'd like it better if they were a hundred miles away instead of only a few hundred yards. But lead on, Tayoga, and we'll say what we think of this inn of yours when we see it." The hollow was not so bad, an indentation in the stone, extending back perhaps three feet, and almost hidden by dwarfed evergreens and climbing vines. It was not visible twenty feet above or below, and it would have escaped any eye less keen than that of the Onondaga. "You've done well, Tayoga," said Willet. "There are better inns in Albany and New York, but it's a pretty good place to be found in the side of a cliff fifteen hundred feet above the water." "We'll be snug enough here." They crawled into the hollow, matted the vines carefully in front of them to guard against a slip or an incautious step, and then the three lay back against the wall, feeling an immense relief. While not so worn as Robert, the bones and muscles of Willet and Tayoga also were calling out for rest. "I'm glad I'm here," said the hunter, and the others were forced to laugh at his intense earnestness. Robert sank against the wall of the cliff, and he felt an immense peace. The arching stone over his head, and the dwarfed evergreens pushing themselves up where the least bit of soil was to be found, shut out the view before them, but it was as truly an inn to him at that moment as any he had ever entered. He closed his eyes in content and every nerve and muscle relaxed. "Since you've shut down your lids, lad, keep 'em down," said the hunter. "Sleep will do you more good now than anything else." But Robert quickly opened his eyes again. "No," he said, "I think I'll eat first." Willet laughed. "I might have known that you would remember your appetite," he said. "But it's not a bad idea. We'll all have a late supper." They had venison and cold hominy from their knapsacks, and they ate with sharp appetites. Then Robert let his lids fall again and in a few minutes was off to slumberland. "Now you follow him, Tayoga," said Willet, "and I'll watch." "But remember to awake me for my turn," said the Onondaga. "You can rely upon me," said the hunter. The disciplined mind of Tayoga knew how to compel sleep, and on this occasion it was needful for him to exert his will. In an incredibly brief time he was pursuing Robert through the gates of sleep to the blessed land of slumber that lay beyond, and the hunter was left alone on watch. Willet, despite his long life in the woods, was a man of cultivation and refinement. He knew and liked the culture of the cities in its highest sense. His youth had not been spent in the North American wilderness. He had tasted the life of London and Paris, and long use and practice had not blunted his mind to the extraordinary contrasts between forest and town.