An hour later they picked a level spot near the new flume, wrapped up in their blankets and lit pipes. But soon Angus dozed.
"Go to sleep," said Rennie. "I'll wake you after a while."
Angus went to sleep instantly and gratefully. He woke some hours later with Rennie's hand on his shoulder.
"It'll be light in two hours, and I'm pinchin' myself to keep awake. You're awake for sure, are you? All right."
He settled himself in his blankets, sighed and slept like a tired dog. Angus sat up. The night which had been bright with stars was now overcast and a wind was blowing. He could hear it straining through the tree tops and booming back in the hills. The creek roared and brawled noisily. A couple of horned owls hooted at their hunting in the timber. There were noises close at hand; the faint, intermittent gurgle of water, little rustlings of grasses and leaves, the occasional scurry of tiny feet, the buzz and click of insects. He had a hard job to fight off sleep. But suddenly a sound which did not blend with the natural voices of the night drove every bit of drowsiness out of him.
It was faint, like the clink of metal on stone. While Angus listened it was repeated. He touched Rennie. Instantly the latter's breathing stopped and changed.
"Somethin' doing'?"
"Listen!"
Clink, clink, clang! Down the wind came the sound.
"It's on the next sidehill," said Rennie. "Rippin' the ditch out, or makin' a hole for a shot. She's a worse hill than this, too." He rose, shook himself, and buckled on his belt. "We'll hold 'em up. Sneak up as close as we can, and tell 'em to h'ist their paws."