But Foy, seeing him, would make the same mistake! It was an uncomfortable reflection.
The pitch was less abrupt now, and there were no more ledges; instead, bowlders were strewn along the rounded slope, with bush and stunted tree between.

Through these Pringle breasted his way, seeking even more to protect himself from above than from below, forced at times to crawl through an open space exposed to possible fire from both sides; so came at last to the masses of splintered and broken rock at the foot of the cliff, where he sank breathless and panting.
The tethered constellations paled in the sky; the moon rose and lit the cliff with silver fire.

The worst was yet to come.

Foy would ask no questions of any prowler, that was sure; he would reason that a friend would call out boldly.

And John Wesley had no idea where Foy or his cave might be.