The two listeners accepted the old man's solution, but they did not share his enthusiasm. On the contrary, they were very grave, for the task before them appeared formidable, if not impossible, of achievement. As they continued silent, gazing upward with frowning faces, Uncle Dick regarded them at first in perplexity, then in rapidly-mounting apprehension.
"What's a-bitin' on ye?" he demanded, at last.
The marshal replied.
"There's no way of getting them out of there. They're armed and not particular about murder. They can hold that fort till kingdom-come. Dan could alone. There's nothing for it but to starve 'em out--if they're there."
"And the trouble about that is," Brant added, "that they've got the girl for hostage. It seems to me that this Dan Hodges has the whip-hand."
For a little, Uncle Dick, who had paled under the tan, stood silent, looking helplessly from one to the other of his companions. Then he groaned aloud. But in the next instant, he straightened to his full height. His face grew convulsed with rage, as he faced the cliff, and his great voice volumed above the clamor of the cataract: "God A'mighty damn ye, Dan Hodges! Damn ye--damn ye!"
And then again: "Damn ye, Dan Hodges, ferever an' ferever!"