When they reached the camp-fire, it had burned so low that they threw on considerable more wood before sitting down to their lunch.  As it flamed up and the cheerful light forced the oppressive gloom back from around them, both felt a corresponding rise in spirits.

“It was lucky that I brought along that maat,” remarked Mickey, as he produced the venison, already cooked and prepared for the palate.  “It’s a custom that Mr. Soot Simpson showed me, and I like it very much.  You note that the maat would be a great deal better if we had some salt and pepper, or if we could keep it a few days till it got tender; but, as it is, I think we’ll worry it down.”

“It seems to me that I never tasted anything better,” responded Fred, “but that, I suppose, is because I become so hungry before tasting it.”

“Yees are right.  If ye want to know how good a cup of water can taste, go two days without drinking; or if ye want to enjoy a good night’s rest, sit up for two nights, and so, if ye want to enjoy a nice maal of victuals, ye must fast for a day or two.  Now, I don’t naad any fasting, for I always enjoyed ating from the first pratie they giv me to suck when I was a few waaks old.”

“Well, Mickey, you’ve been pretty well around the cave, and I want to know what you think of our chance of getting out?”

“The face of the Irishman became serious, and he looked thoughtfully into the fire a moment before answering.  Disposed as he was to view everything from the sunshiny side, Mickey was not such a simpleton as to consider their incarceration in the cave a matter that could be passed off with a quirp and jest.  He had explored the interior pretty thoroughly, and gained a correct idea of their situation, but as yet he saw no practical way of getting out.  The plan of diving down the stream, and trusting to Providence to come up on the outside was to be the last resort.

Mickey did not propose to undertake it until convinced that no other scheme was open to him.  In going about the cave, he struck the walls in the hope of finding some weak place, but they all gave forth that dead sound which would have been heard had they been backed up by fifty feet of solid granite.  Among the many schemes that he had turned over in his mind, none gave as little promise as this, and he dismissed it as utterly impracticable.

He could conjure no way of reaching that opening above their heads.  He could not look up at that irregular, jagged opening without thinking how easy it would be to rescue them, if they could make their presence known to some one outside.  There was Sut Simpson, who must have learned that he had gone upon the wrong trail, and who had, therefore, turned back to the assistance of his former comrade.

The latter knew him to be a veteran of the prairie, one who could read signs that to others were like a sealed book, and whose long years of adventure with the tribes of the Southwest had taught him all their tricks; but whether he would be likely to follow the two, and to understand their predicament, was a question which Mickey could not answer with much encouragement to himself.  Still there was a possibility of its being done, and now and then the Irishman caught himself looking up at the “skylight,” with a longing, half-expectant gaze.