Jimmie listened intently for the sound of a drum on the mountain side below.

It now was quite light, and the watcher could see every movement made by the men he believed to be brigands and their prisoner.
A chill of terror ran through his veins as he saw the ragged squad examining their guns as if they expected to use them at the expiration of two more minutes.
"One minute." The leader snapped out the words viciously; his evil eyes sparred for an instant with those of his captive and were then lowered to the ground.

Jimmie took his revolver from his pocket and held it ready for action.

As he had declared to the drummer, it was his deliberate intention to shoot the leader an instant before he gave the order to fire.

He knew that the discharge would point out his place of concealment, and did not doubt that the volley intended for Fremont would be turned upon himself, but the knowledge did not swerve him from his purpose.
He counted the next seconds by his own fierce heart-beats.