Buddy could not hear all that he said, and Hides-the-face had his back turned so that not all of his signs were intelligible; but he gathered that these particular Indians had chosen or had been ordered to wait here for three suns, and that the cellar appealed to Hides-the-face as a shelter in case it stormed.
Buddy did not know whether to rejoice at the news or to mourn.

They would not destroy the dugout, so he need not shoot himself, which was of course a relief.

Still, three suns meant three days and nights, and the prospect of lying there on his stomach, afraid to move for that length of time, almost amounted to the same thing in the end.

He did not believe that he could hold out that long, though of course he would try pretty hard.
All that day Buddy lay watching through the crack, determined to take any chance that came his way.

None came.