Dillon, or, to speak more to the card, Lieutenant Dillon, arrived at the place of assemblage just as the day was breaking.  He was a leader of considerable influence among the outlaws, and, next to Rivers, was most popular.  Indeed, in certain respects, he was far more popular; for, though perhaps not so adroit in his profession, nor so well fitted for its command, he was possessed of many of those qualities which are apt to be taking with “the fierce democratic!” He was a prince of hail fellows—­was thoroughly versed in low jest and scurvy anecdote—­could play at pushpins, and drink at every point in the game; and, strange to say, though always drinking, was never drunk.  Nor, though thus accomplished, and thus prone to these accomplishments, did he ever neglect those duties which he assumed to perform.  No indulgence led him away from his post, and, on the other hand, no post compelled or constrained him into gravity.  He was a careless, reckless blade, indifferent alike, it would seem, to sun and storm—­and making of life a circle, that would not inaptly have illustrated the favorite text of Sardanapalus.

He arrived at the cave, as we have said just as the day was breaking.  A shrill whistle along the ridges of wood and rock as he passed them, denoted the various stations of the sentinels, as studiously strewed along the paths by which their place of refuge might be assailed, as if they were already beleaguered by an assailing army.  Without pausing to listen to the various speeches and inquiries which assailed his ears upon his arrival he advanced to the cavern, and was told that the captain had been for some time anxiously awaiting his arrival—­that he had morosely kept the inner recess of the cave, and since his return, which had not been until late in the night, had been seen but two or three times, and then but for a moment, when he had come forth to make inquiries for himself.

Leaving his men differently disposed, Dillon at once penetrated into the small apartment in which his leader was lodged, assured of the propriety of the intrusion, from what had just been told him.

The recess, which was separated from the outer hall by a curtain of thick coarse stuff, falling to the floor from a beam, the apertures for the reception of which had been chiselled in the rock, was dimly illuminated by a single lamp, hanging from a chain, which was in turn fastened to a pole that stretched directly across the apartment.  A small table in the centre of the room, covered with a piece of cotton cloth, a few chairs, a broken mirror, and on a shelf that stood trimly in the corner, a few glasses and decanters, completed the furniture of the apartment.

On the table at which the outlaw sat, lay his pistols—­a huge and unwieldy, but well-made pair.  A short sword, a dirk and one or two other weapons of similar description, contemplated only for hand-to-hand purposes, lay along with them; and the better to complete the picture, now already something outre, a decanter of brandy and tumblers were contiguous.