But it had stood there for centuries, a shelter for sheep in winter from the snow and hail.
What made Rollitt bound now in the direction of this rock, like a man shot?
Surely not to admire a natural curiosity, or to seek shelter under its wing.
No.

He had found that his quest after all had not been in vain.

There, curled up under the overhanging rock, lying one almost across the other for warmth, with cheek touching cheek, and Ashby's coat covering both, were Fisher minor and his chum--not dead, but sleeping soundly!.