Of course the boys were more concerned in the bunk-house than anything else, for it was in this quarter the excitement would presently center.
“The door seems to be wide open,” whispered Bob, in his chum’s ear.
“That’s all right,” came the faint reply. “We expected that, because the night has been warmer
than usual. But make up your mind that’s all been thought of, and if you keep your eyes fastened on that doorway, perhaps you’ll see something moving before long.”
Frank would not have spoken at this length only that he had his lips close to the ear of his companion; and had anyone been five feet away it is doubtful whether they could have distinguished his voice from the sighing of the soft night wind through the branches of the cedars, or the aspens, near by.
As Bob lay there with his eyes glued upon the dark doorway of the big bunk-house, boylike, he allowed his thoughts to stray far away. And as might be expected, he thought, among other things, of the missing knife, which had never seemed half so valuable to him as when he found it gone.
What Frank had said about his using it to cut up the deer several days ago appeared to have made considerable impression on Bob’s mind. He was trying now with all his might, to mentally look upon that scene again, in the hope that in this way he could follow his actions, and find out just what he had done with the knife, after finishing his work.
In vain did he try, however. There seemed to be just one place up to which he was able to carry himself, and there he stuck, every time.
But the minutes were passing. Surely it ought to be nearly time for things to begin happening. He had kept his eyes on that open door; but so far nothing had rewarded his scrutiny.
What were they waiting for? Had the old Moqui promised to make his appearance, to tell them that all was well, and every one of the rustlers sound asleep?