Then, after snoring again in the most peaceful manner, he broke out:
“Right over the corner of the pan, Breck, old boy. Let’s see you make a home run off that bender!”
Brad moved still farther away that he might listen without being disturbed by the sailor. Far in the night he seemed to hear a sound. Kneeling, he leaned his ear close to the ground and listened attentively.
“Horseman coming,” he decided. “It must be Dick—it must be!”
Finally the hoofbeats of the approaching horse became more and more distinct. Then through the still, clear night came a clear, faint whistle.
“Dick it is!” exclaimed the Texan joyously.
Dick it was, and with him he brought Felicia safely back to them. They did not arouse the others, but she was wrapped in blankets and left to sleep, if possible, through the remainder of the still, cool night. Young Merriwell’s story filled the Texan with unbounded astonishment and admiration. He seized Dick’s hand and shook it with almost savage delight.
“Talk about a howling terror on ten wheels!” he exclaimed. “Why, you simply beat the universe. You hear me gurgle! Now you just turn in, for I reckon you’re a whole lot pegged out.”
“Well, sleep won’t hurt me if I can corral some of it,” acknowledged Dick.
Brad continued to stand guard, thinking that later he would arouse one of the others to take his place. His restlessness and worry had passed somewhat, and after a time he sat down, thinking over the startling things that had happened. It was thus that, exhausted more than he knew, he finally slid to the ground and also slept. The night passed without any of them being disturbed. But in the morning the first man to awaken was Pete Curry, who sat up, rubbing his eyes, and uttered a shout of astonishment. The remaining sleepers awoke and started up.