"THAT'S WHAT JIM TOOK FOR AN APACHE."
"So did you, Pike; you needn't try to make fun of me," was Jim's answer, half surly, half glad, because his fears were now removed.
"Is it a panther?" whispered Ned. "Oh!—can't I take a pop at him?"
"Not a shot. It would simply be telling those blackguards where we were hiding and spoil all the fun I expect to have in the morning. That's no panther; they have a tawny hide; but it's the biggest catamount or wild-cat I ever set eyes on. Now go back to Kate, bundle up in your blankets and keep warm and go to sleep. Jim and I stand guard to-night."
And, obediently, the boy crept away. Pike looked after him with moistening eyes—all his jovial, half-laughing manner changing in an instant.
"God bless the little man! He's as brave and plucky as a boy could be, and hasn't so much as whimpered once," muttered the ex-corporal to himself. "What would I not give to know where his father was this night!"
Then he turned to Jim who had somewhat sulkily drawn away to the other end of the little parapet.
"Come back, Jim, my boy. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings," he said. "You were perfectly right in keeping such close watch on everything and anything the least suspicious and I was wrong if I ridiculed it. Now we've got to divide the night between us. You lie down at once and go to sleep. I'll keep guard till one or half past; then you relieve me until daybreak."
And Jim, nothing loth, crept back towards the glowing coals and rolled himself in his heavy blanket, leaving the old corporal to his solitary reflections, and these were of a character so gloomy, so full of anxiety and dread, that one only marvels how he was able to keep up, before Kate and the children, the appearance of jollity and confidence that had marked throughout this trying day his whole demeanor.