So he stood hacking and prying with his knife blade, stopping now and then to stare out into the hot sunshine. He could even see a wisp of cloud drift across the bit of blue sky revealed to him through the narrow rock window of his prison. The sight made him grit his teeth. He was so close to that free, sun-drenched world, and he was yet so utterly helpless! He was standing so, resting from his unavailing task, when the spotted cat hopped upon the bowlder where every day she sat to be stroked by Gary’s hand. Gary’s eyes narrowed and he licked his lips avidly. Faith was carrying a wild dove that she had caught and brought to the bowlder where she might feast in pleasant company. “Thanks, old girl,” he said grimly; and stretching out his arm, snatched the bird greedily from Faith’s mouth. “Some service! Now beat it and go catch a rabbit; a big one. Catch two rabbits!” He slid down to a sitting position and began plucking the limp body of the dove, his fingers trembling with eagerness. The “third hunger” was upon him--that torment of craving which men who have been entombed in mines speak of with lowered voices--if they live to tell about it. Gary longed to tear the bird with his teeth, just as it was. But he would not yield an inch from his idea of the proper way to play the game. He therefore plucked the dove almost clean of feathers, and lighting his one precious remaining candle, he turned the small, plump body over the candle flame, singeing it before he held the flame to its breast. The instant that portion was seared and partially broiled, Gary set his handsome white teeth into it and chewed the morsel slowly while he broiled another bite. His impulse--rather, the agonized craving of his whole famished body--was to tear the body asunder with his teeth and devour it like an animal. But he steeled himself to self-control; just as he had held himself sternly in hand down in the cabin when loneliness and that weird, felt presence plucked at his courage. He would have grudged the melting of even the half-inch of tallow it required to broil the bird so that he could eat it and retain his self-respect; but the succulent flesh was too delicious. He could not think of anything but the ecstasy of eating. He crunched the bones in his teeth, pulping them slowly, extracting the last particle of flavor and nourishment. When he had finished there remained but the head and the feet--and he flung them through the opening lest he should be tempted to devour them also. After that he indulged himself in a sip of water, stretched himself full length upon the rock floor, and descended blissfully into the oblivion of deep slumber. CHAPTER THIRTY “SOMEBODY HOLLERED UP ON THE BLUFF”