“Go to bed?” queried Hope-Jones.
“Well, turn in, lie down, go to sleep, or whatever you call it; but it’s going to be ‘go to bed’ for me, because I shall pile up some of that dried moss over there and make a couch.”
“A good idea,” said the señor. “We will all do it. As for supper, I for one propose to eat my last ration of dried meat and not try for any game to-night.”
The others did not demur, and although the sun was not yet set, they proceeded to bring in the moss and distribute it under the boughs that had sheltered them from dropping arrows. But as the three adventurers from Callao were spreading their blankets and kicking off their shoes, Señor Cisneros interrupted them with, “Not so fast there! What about a watch?”
“A watch to-night? Is one necessary?”
“Certainly, and every night, so long as we are in this region. The Majeronas are probably gone for good, but some of them might return. Yes, sirs, we will take our turns, above and below, as they say on shipboard.”
“Who first?” asked Hope-Jones.
“Suppose we draw lots. Better still, let Harvey choose which watch he will stand, as he is the one most used up, and we men will draw straws!”
Harvey decided that he would prefer to be sentinel from six till eight o’clock, then have a night’s rest through, so the others lay down under the shelter, and he stationed himself in the opening, near the river, with Ferguson’s rifle in hand.
A heavy rain fell on the following day, and they were only too glad to remain under the shelter of the boughs which, reënforced with the canvas of the shelter-tent, made an almost perfect watershed. Harvey was somewhat feverish in the morning, and the others felt even more wearied than on the night before, so all were rather pleased than vexed that the elements had conspired to delay their journey.