McTeague was not afraid.
"If I could only SEE something--somebody," he muttered, as he held the cocked rifle ready, "I--I'd show him." He returned to camp.

Cribbens was snoring.

The burro had come down to the stream for its morning drink.

The mule was awake and browsing.
McTeague stood irresolutely by the cold ashes of the camp-fire, looking from side to side with all the suspicion and wariness of a tracked stag.
Stronger and stronger grew the strange impulse.

It seemed to him that on the next instant he MUST perforce wheel sharply eastward and rush away headlong in a clumsy, lumbering gallop.