Thad was not saying anything, but it struck him that the fellow who could show enough ingenuity to get himself out of a quicksand, or a muck bed, the way Bumpus had done, might be far from the ignoramus some of his comrades still chose to believe him.
“I’m getting sleepy, and I move we turn in,” suggested Giraffe after more time had elapsed.
“Well, hold on then, because we’ve got to make a move out of this basin,” said the shrewd patrol leader.
“Seems a good enough place to bunk in,” grumbled the sleepy Giraffe.
“But dangerous at that,” Thad remarked. “Those men may have glimpsed our fire, and give us a call. We’ll not be at home to them. I’ve been told that a hunted man never sleeps where he eats. Come along; it won’t be far, I promise you.”
After a short walk, Thad announced that in his opinion, as well as that of Allan, it was now safe for them to lie down, and get what sleep they could.
“I hope Bumpus is as well off, and got plenty to eat still,” were the last words Giraffe spoke; “I remember the time we got twisted in our bearings up in Maine, and nary a match between us, with a cold night at hand. But I got fire all right with my little apparatus. Besides, there was two of us, and it don’t seem near so lonely when you’ve got company along, even if it is only a tenderfoot scout.”
Soon all of them had made themselves as comfortable as possible. The absence of blankets was going to be severely felt. Without a camp-fire to cheer them, Thad feared they would be shivering before morning, even if it was the good old summer time. The atmosphere close to the foothills of the great Rockies is quite rarefied, and the nights are apt to seem even cold.
The four scouts were pretty tired, and they not only went to sleep quickly, but they slumbered heavily—it might have been hours for all any one of them could say, when they were suddenly awakened by a series of heavy crashes and detonations that sounded very much as though an earthquake had shaken the Rockies to their foundation.