I was tired of running and hiding. Slowly but steadily, anger had been building within me. Contemplation fits me better than rage. I am prone to consider before acting, and to take decisive action only when there is no other course. So far I had been guided by some instinct, some atavistic memory from warlike ancestors who had preceded me. Now I no longer wished to escape. I wanted to fight. But beside me I had a girl to consider. Lovely as she was, intelligent as she was—and I have always preferred intelligent women—I wished for the moment she was elsewhere. A man going into a fight for his life should have to think of nothing else; his attention should not be for the minute averted. There had been a lot of shooting below and I could only guess that my friends had appeared … my friends, or some Indians. If the former, I should join them; if the latter, I had another reason for hiding. Van Runkle had mentioned a cave … but how to find it in the dark? Turning to Lucinda, I asked, “Can you be still?
