Before the sun’s glow had begun to fade from the glorious western heavens the two saddle boys had turned their horses loose, and were hard at work with their preparations for spending another night under the moon and stars.
CHAPTER VII
CAUGHT IN HIS OWN TRAP
“Frank, wake up!”
Possibly that was the first time on record when the late tenderfoot had found a chance to arouse his chum from sleep, and the strange part of it was Frank never knew how it happened that he had been slumbering so heavily on that particular night.
When his comrade shook him he was of course wide awake in a second; and sat up in the tent, that gave very little more than head room for the two.
“Well, what’s wrong?” he asked, in a whisper.
“I happened to wake up, and heard Buckskin snorting to beat the band,” said Bob, his own voice showing evidence of trembling. “Listen, there he goes again, Frank! Doesn’t that sound as if he wanted to let you know?”
“That’s just what it does, Bob!”
Even as he uttered these low words Frank was reaching out for his gun. He felt very queerly about the fact of his not having heard the least sound until his comrade aroused him.
“My! but I must have been in the grip of a nightmare!” Bob heard him mutter.