Instead of the companionship of his friends, instead of the jolly camps on the hills and long, pleasant days on the river, he was here a prisoner.
And he was the prisoner of a man who was desperate enough to take his life at any moment.

Indeed, the renegade might not be taking him to the border at all.

Fremont suspected another purpose.

With this thought came the memory of the signals he had heard on the mountain, and he arose and went to the window opening, barren of sash and glass, and looked out, hoping to again hear, above the rain, the calls of the Black Bears.

But no such sounds greeted his ears.