What things he had seen, what wonders he knew! What a story might be put into his mouth if I were a capable writer gifted with time and imagination instead of a poor outcast, ill-paid lieutenant whose literary wit is often taxed hardly to fill even a log-book entry! I stared at him so long and hard, and he at me through the blinking flames, that again I dozed--and dozed--and dozed again until at last when I woke in good earnest it was daylight.
By this time hunger was very aggressive.

The fire was naught but a circlet of grey ashes; the dead king, still sitting against the cave-side, looked very blue and cold, and with an uncomfortable realisation of my position I shook myself together, picked up and pocketed without much thought the queer gold circlet that had dropped from his forehead, and went outside to see what prospect of escape the new day had brought.
It was not much.

Upriver there was not the remotest chance.

Not even a Niagara steamer could have forged back against the sluice coming down from the gulch there.

Looking round, the sides of the icy amphitheatre--just lighting up now with glorious gold and crimson glimmers of morning--were as steep as a wall face; only back towards the falls was there a possibility of getting out of the dreadful trap, so thither I went, after a last look at the poor old king, along my narrow beach with all the eagerness begotten of a final chance.