“Are you friend or foe to the Confederates?” shouted Walker, from the opposite side of the stream. There was no response. “That cursed Dick must have betrayed me,” he muttered. “But, I will match them yet. Come!” He dragged Miss Hayward along up the mountain steep. At length he reached a point of rock which extended far over the valley below. A narrow footway, not more than ten inches in width, forming a kind of shelf in the rock, led into an immense cavern, which is known in that region as the “Silver Cave.” Just in front of this cave was a large, flat rock, forming an overhanging platform, but to reach this, or the mouth of the cave, required great care, as the narrow path was the only manner in which an entrance or exit could be effected. Into this place Walker conveyed Miss Hayward. Walker had, when meeting the rebels two days before, provided his boat well with provisions. These he conveyed with him into the cavern. He had not observed, however, that he was followed closely, and that the Indian arrived at the narrow passageway just as the rebel and his prisoner entered the cave. This was so. The Indian crept up as closely as possible, and peered over the projecting point which shut Walker from his view. He was observed. “And who are you?” yelled Walker. The Indian was perfectly familiar with the cave. He knew no person could leave it by the narrow shelf or pathway. He could keep himself concealed, and if Walker passed a certain point, before he could bring his gun to bear, he could strike him dead. Walker was a prisoner, with a watchful and relentless keeper. The Indian replied: “Ah, White Bird! Fall-leaf here! Fall-leaf save!” “Is it indeed my friend Fall-leaf?” cried Miss Hayward, joyfully. “Yes; Fall-leaf save you!” “Where is William Nettleton?” asked Mamie. “Gone—gone!” “Ah! then I have only _you_ to encounter,” yelled Walker, “and, if the Fates favor me, I shall triumph. I know the Indian has not thought to provide himself with provisions. I have enough to last us, with care, for two weeks, and by that time he will starve, for no Federal fool ever will find me _here_. He dare not leave in search of help, for I should then effect my escape. So we will play our hands, and see if I do not hold the trump card. Ha! ha! I can baffle any friend you have, Miss Hayward.” “White Bird sing,” said the Indian. “Yes, I will sing. And as we are now near the main road, some one will be sure to hear me.” “Me watch—me wait!” During the entire passage Miss Hayward had not failed to sing her echo-song every few miles, hoping to attract attention and gain assistance. Now that she was so near the public highway, she applied herself anew to the task. Walker made frequent attempts to silence her, but could not do it, as he feared, whenever he turned from his watch, that the Indian would dart in upon him.