"Camping securely between our enemies above and our enemies below,"
said Robert, his vivid imagination leaping up again. "It appeals to
me to be so near them and yet well hidden, especially as we've left no
trail on this rocky precipice that they can follow."

"It would help me a lot if they were not so close," laughed the
hunter. "I don't need your contrasts, Robert, to make me rest. I'd
like it better if they were a hundred miles away instead of only a
few hundred yards. But lead on, Tayoga, and we'll say what we think of
this inn of yours when we see it."

The hollow was not so bad, an indentation in the stone, extending
back perhaps three feet, and almost hidden by dwarfed evergreens and
climbing vines. It was not visible twenty feet above or below, and it
would have escaped any eye less keen than that of the Onondaga.

"You've done well, Tayoga," said Willet. "There are better inns in
Albany and New York, but it's a pretty good place to be found in the
side of a cliff fifteen hundred feet above the water."

"We'll be snug enough here."

They crawled into the hollow, matted the vines carefully in front of
them to guard against a slip or an incautious step, and then the three
lay back against the wall, feeling an immense relief. While not so
worn as Robert, the bones and muscles of Willet and Tayoga also were
calling out for rest.

"I'm glad I'm here," said the hunter, and the others were forced to
laugh at his intense earnestness.