w-hanging branches of an evergreen oak and out of the light of the
camp-fire, where he could watch, seeing but unseen.

The night had grown dark and cool--all California nights are chilly; and
Bud wrapped his blanket around him and, leaning up against the trunk of
the tree, looked out into the darkness surrounding the lone camp-fire.
In the distance a coyote was making the night hideous with his
demoniacal howlings. From a near tree came the lonesome hoot of an owl.
All else was still, save from all around came the mysterious sounds of
the wilderness at night, suggestive of the low whisperings and talking
of uneasy spirits.

But all this was commonplace to Bud. He had often spent the night out in
the open, had often stood guard by a lonely camp-fire, when darkness was
all around and only the weird voices of the night were heard; and he
gave little thought to these things. He was very tired and very sleepy
and it took about all the thought power he had to compel himself to stay
awake.

An hour past. There had not been a suspicious sound nor movement; and
Bud began to feel more secure, began to relax some of his vigilance,
began to close his eyes now and then for a brief moment, began to lean
more comfortably against the trunk of the tree--then, suddenly, he
straightened himself up with a jerk, his eyes wide open, his cocked
rifle held ready for instant use. Sure he had heard a sound, a sound
that did not belong to the night, a thud like the fall of some heavy
body on soft ground, and coming from the direction of the camp-fire! For
a moment he stared, tense with excitement, toward the camp-fire, now
glowing dully; but he saw nothing unusual, heard nothing unusual. Thure
still lay by the side of the log, his form showing faintly in the dull
light. The horses were grazing quietly--he could just distinguish their
forms through the darkness. They showed no alarm.

"Queer! I certainly heard something fall; and right near! Well, I reckon
I had better make sure that everything is all right with Thure," and Bud
very cautiously stepped out from the shadows of the tree and, moving
softly, crept up to where Thure lay. His deep regular breathing told him
that he was sound asleep and that all was well with him.

"Must have been dreaming," he muttered in disgust, and returned to his
station under the tree; but he did not close his eyes again.

There were no other suspicious sounds during the remainder of his watch,
nor during the