blanket-pinioned limbs of his victim. There was a momentary upheaval,
a spasm, and a struggle; but the tightly-rolled blanket clung to the
unfortunate man like cerements.

There was no noise, no outcry, no sound of struggle. There was nothing
to be seen but the peaceful, prostrate figures of the two men darkly
outlined on the ledge. They might have been sleeping in each other's
arms. In the black silence the stealthy tread of Wiles in the brush
above was distinctly audible.

Gradually the struggles grew fainter. Then a whisper from the crags:

"I can't see you. What are you doing?"

"Watching!"

"Sleeps he?"

"He sleeps!"

"Soundly?"

"Soundly."

"After the manner of the dead?"

"After the fashion of the dead!"

The last tremor had ceased. Pedro rose as Wiles descended.