The afternoon waned and night came, but it brought to Billy Byrne neither renewed attack nor succor.  The bullet which had dropped him momentarily had but creased his forehead.  Aside from the fact that he was blood covered from the wound it had inconvenienced him in no way, and now that darkness had fallen he commenced to plan upon leaving the shelter.

First he transferred Eddie’s ammunition to his own person, and such valuables and trinkets as he thought “maw” might be glad to have, then he removed the breechblock from Eddie’s carbine and stuck it in his pocket that the weapon might be valueless to the Indians when they found it.

“Sorry I can’t bury you old man,” was Billy’s parting comment, as he climbed over the breastwork and melted into the night.

Billy Byrne moved cautiously through the darkness, and he moved not in the direction of escape and safety but directly up the canyon in the way that the village of the Pimans lay.

Soon he heard the sound of voices and shortly after saw the light of cook fires playing upon bronzed faces and upon the fronts of low huts.  Some women were moaning and wailing.  Billy guessed that they mourned for those whom his bullets had found earlier in the day.  In the darkness of the night, far up among the rough, forbidding mountains it was all very weird and uncanny.

Billy crept closer to the village.  Shelter was abundant.  He saw no sign of sentry and wondered why they should be so lax in the face of almost certain attack.  Then it occurred to him that possibly the firing he and Eddie had heard earlier in the day far down among the foothills might have meant the extermination of the Americans from El Orobo.

“Well, I’ll be next then,” mused Billy, and wormed closer to the huts.  His eyes were on the alert every instant, as were his ears; but no sign of that which he sought rewarded his keenest observation.

Until midnight he lay in concealment and all that time the mourners continued their dismal wailing.  Then, one by one, they entered their huts, and silence reigned within the village.

Billy crept closer.  He eyed each hut with longing, wondering gaze.  Which could it be?  How could he determine?  One seemed little more promising than the others.  He had noted those to which Indians had retired.  There were three into which he had seen none go.  These, then, should be the first to undergo his scrutiny.

The night was dark.  The moon had not yet risen.  Only a few dying fires cast a wavering and uncertain light upon the scene.  Through the shadows Billy Byrne crept closer and closer.  At last he lay close beside one of the huts which was to be the first to claim his attention.

For several moments he lay listening intently for any sound which might come from within; but there was none.  He crawled to the doorway and peered within.  Utter darkness shrouded and hid the interior.