They had entered the little amphitheater through a narrow, rocky pass in the bottom of which the tiny stream flowed, and now, weak and tired, the mucker was forced to admit that he could go no farther.

“Who’d o’ t’ought dat I was such a sissy?” he exclaimed disgustedly.

“I think that you are very wonderful, Mr. Byrne,” replied the girl.  “Few men could have gone through what you have today and been alive now.”

The mucker made a deprecatory gesture.

“I suppose we gotta make de best of it,” he said.  “Anyhow, dis ought to make a swell joint to defend.”

Weak as he was he searched about for some soft grasses which he threw in a pile beneath a stunted tree that grew well back in the hollow.

“Here’s yer downy,” he said, with an attempt at jocularity.  “Now you’d better hit de hay, fer youse must be dead fagged.”

“Thanks!” replied the girl.  “I am nearly dead.”

So tired was she that she was asleep almost as soon as she had found a comfortable position in the thick mat of grass, so that she gave no thought to the strange position in which circumstance had placed her.

The sun was well up the following morning before the girl awakened, and it was several minutes before she could readjust herself to her strange surroundings.  At first she thought that she was alone, but finally she discerned a giant figure standing at the opening which led from their mountain retreat.

It was the mucker, and at sight of him there swept over the girl the terrible peril of her position—­alone in the savage mountains of a savage island with the murderer of Billy Mallory—­the beast that had kicked the unconscious Theriere in the face—­the mucker who had insulted and threatened to strike her!  She shuddered at the thought.  And then she recalled the man’s other side, and for the life of her she could not tell whether to be afraid of him or not—­it all depended upon what mood governed him.  It would be best to propitiate him.  She called a pleasant good morning.

Byrne turned.  She was shocked at the pallor of his haggard face.

“Good morning,” he said.  “How did yeh sleep?”

“Oh, just splendidly, and you?” she replied.

“So-so,” he answered.

She looked at him searchingly as he approached her.

“Why I don’t believe that you have slept at all,” she cried.

“I didn’t feel very sleepy,” he replied evasively.

“You sat up all night on guard!” she exclaimed.  “You know you did.”

“De Chinks might o’ been shadowin’ us—­it wasn’t safe to sleep,” he admitted; “but I’ll tear off a few dis mornin’ after we find a feed of some kind.”

“What can we find to eat here?” she asked.

“Dis crick is full o’ fish,” he explained, “an’ ef youse got a pin I guess we kin rig up a scheme to hook a couple.”

The girl found a pin that he said would answer very nicely, and with a shoe lace for a line and a big locust as bait the mucker set forth to angle in the little mountain torrent.  The fish, unwary, and hungry thus early in the morning proved easy prey, and two casts brought forth two splendid specimens.