noon
There was scarcely an attempt at conversation . A controlling thought bound that group into silence -- if Joe Lake was ever going to come he would come to-day . Shefford asked himself a hundred times if it were possible , and his answer seemed to be in the low , sullen , muffled roar of the river . And as the morning wore on toward noon his dread deepened until all chance appeared hopeless . Already he had begun to have vague and unformed and disquieting ideas of the only avenue of escape left -- to return up Nonnezoshe Boco -- and that would be to enter a trap . Suddenly a piercing cry pealed down the cañon . It was followed by echoes , weird and strange , that clapped from wall to wall in mocking concatenation .