I placed the
brook-connection under the guard and authority of three of my
best boys, who would alternate in two-hour watches all night and
promptly obey my signal, if I should have occasion to give it
--three revolver-shots in quick succession. Sentry-duty was discarded
for the night, and the corral left empty of life; I ordered that
quiet be maintained in the cave, and the electric lights turned
down to a glimmer.
As soon as it was good and dark, I shut off the current from all
the fences, and then groped my way out to the embankment bordering
our side of the great dynamite ditch. I crept to the top of it
and lay there on the slant of the muck to watch. But it was
too dark to see anything. As for sounds, there were none. The
stillness was deathlike. True, there were the usual night-sounds
of the country--the whir of night-birds, the buzzing of insects,
the barking of distant dogs, the mellow lowing of far-off kine
--but these didn't seem to break the stillness, they only intensified
it, and added a grewsome melancholy to it into the bargain.
I presently gave up looking, the night shut down so black, but
I kept my ears strained to catch the least suspicious sound, for
I judged I had only to wait, and I shouldn't be disappointed.
However, I had to wait a long time. At last I caught what you
may call in distinct glimpses of sound dulled metallic sound.
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