There was nothing
to be seen but the peaceful, prostrate figures of the two men darkly
outlined on the ledge. They might have been sleeping in each other's
arms. In the black silence the stealthy tread of Wiles in the brush
above was distinctly audible.
Gradually the struggles grew fainter. Then a whisper from the crags:
"I can't see you. What are you doing?"
"Watching!"
"Sleeps he?"
"He sleeps!"
"Soundly?"
"Soundly."
"After the manner of the dead?"
"After the fashion of the dead!"
The last tremor had ceased. Pedro rose as Wiles descended.
"All is ready," said Wiles; "you are a witness of my placing the
notifications?"
"I am a witness."
"But of this one?" pointing to Concho. "Shall we leave him here?"
"A drunken imbecile,--why not?"
Wiles turned his left eye on the speaker. They chanced to be standing
nearly in the same attitude they had stood the preceding night. Pedro
uttered a cry and an imprecation, "Carramba! Take your devil's eye from
me! What see you? Eh,--what?"
"Nothing, good Pedro," said Wiles, turning his bland right cheek to
Pedro.
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