The man muttered impatiently, glanced toward the sleeping forms of the youths, and drew back into the shadow until he could set all right again. Then, satisfied that they were in too deep slumber to notice his actions, he leaned forward, throwing his head and shoulders into the sunlight as before. And why sat he there so close to the opening of the cavern? Was it that he might the better hear the sound of danger when it came that way? Was it that he meant that his ward and watch should be as faithful as if it were his own loved ones whom he was guarding against the approach of wolves or ravening beasts? It might be all this--it might be otherwise. A few more minutes passed, and he turned and looked toward the young men with a piercing, penetrating glance, as if something aroused his suspicion. He did not stir as he pronounced the name of Ned Clinton in quite a loud voice, repeating it several times, and doing the same in the case of Jo Minturn. The slumber of both was too deep to be disturbed by such trivial causes, and he received no answer. "I don't believe they're playing possum," he muttered to himself, staring distrustfully toward them. "But it won't do to make any blunder right here." To prevent any error, he rose softly and walked to where they were sleeping. Brief listening told him that their regular breathing was not feigned, but he leaned over and shook each in turn by the shoulder, pronouncing their names in louder tones than before. The slumber continued undisturbed. A muttered exclamation escaped the man again, one expressive of pleasure at the discovery. "They'll sleep till to-morrow morning if nobody comes along to wake 'em up. The trouble is with that deuced Mohawk, who has a way of turning up just when he isn't wanted. But I don't think he'll get a chance to put his finger in this pie." He looked over in the gloom toward the corner where he could catch the outlines of the head of Rosa Minturn, as it rested against a large stone. Then he appeared to be of the opinion that the time had come for action of some kind. He moved to the cavern door but did not stay there; with scarcely a pause, he stooped down and speedily placed himself on the outside of the mountain retreat. CHAPTER XXVII. WHAT DOES IT ALL MEAN? As soon as Worrell found himself on the outside of the cavern, he walked rapidly for a hundred yards or so, taking a direction at right angles to that which he followed when conducting the fugitives to the retreat. His gait became almost a run until he reached an elevation, when he paused, as if to make a survey of a portion of the country spread out below him. "The sun is almost overhead," he muttered, as he looked up to the sky with an impatient expression, "and I am all of an hour behind time, but this is one of them things that can't be fixed just as you want it, and I don't see why it should make any difference."