When Artie caught sight of Westy breaking into a run up the trail, he thought intuitively that he was going for help. Instantly he was warmed with good feeling and hope that they would return soon and find a way to effect his escape. He sat silent and rigid within the hollow, for the birds had put in their appearance now, frantically strutting back and forth over the precipice, evidently searching for some trace of their lost young. One or the other kept guard on the precipice continuously, screeching with such terrific force that Artie felt as though the echo itself would all but ruin his hearing. His muscles were stiff and sore from the cramped position he was crouching in, and not only that, but he was getting hungry. He had had nothing to eat since breakfast, but tried to cheer himself with the thought that it was better for him to be hungry, and keep quiet about it, than to let the birds in on it. At times when the eagle was stalking on the very edge of the cliff, the sun would reflect the bird’s shadow upon the jagged rock in front of him, worn smooth and glass-like with age. Then, poor Artie would sit in a state of nervous terror until the shadow had passed. His legs were aching violently, even though they seemed to be numb when he would try and relax them. His back felt almost as if it had become brittle and would snap in two, should he get the chance to stand upright. He was beginning to doubt very much that the chance would come, for whole months had passed in those hours since Westy went out of his life. What he would give, he thought, for one glimpse of the athletic young figure swinging furiously down the trail! His vision was becoming blurred from the strain of watching so intently from such a distance. He was beginning to fancy at times that some of the pine trees along the trail were moving a little. Then he tried to reason that the lethargic state he was in from the hours of waiting, was responsible for his double vision. He did not want to admit that his nerves were giving way under the tense strain. The sentry on guard was still screaming at intervals, and poor Artie began to think he was screeching when he wasn’t, and wasn’t when he was. Then he tried to muster up his ebbing courage and with renewed hope looked down upon the trail once more. Surely, he thought, Westy could not be much longer! What on earth was keeping him? The afternoon wore on and it began to get damp and chilly in the hollow after the sun had left. Slowly, ever so slowly, it was withdrawing its warm friendly rays from all about him. Then, finally, the last lingering light that had cast sort of a farewell shadow down upon the lake, died away and Artie felt now that he was surely deserted and left completely alone in the unfriendly chill of near-twilight.