The more Tom snored the more restless and lonesome Dave got.
There is nothing so trying as hearing another person snoring when you cannot get to sleep yourself.
Two or three times Dave asked his companion softly if he was asleep, and got no definite reply.
A dog howled away up on the flat somewhere, and another dog answered him from across the river. Then they organised a sort of mournful canine conversation at long range, and woke a third dog, who took up the thread of the discourse. Now and again the sharp sound of a Texas bell was carried across from the hills, where some timber getters were camped.
Some unknown danger caused a mob of wild ducks, which had come in from the lagoons at nightfall, to get up quacking loudly.
Dave heard the burr of their wings as they flew over his head.
He could not stand it any longer. He reached down and pinched Tom on the calf of the leg.
Tom jumped clean out of the blanket.
“What’s up?” asked Dave, pretending to wake out of a sound sleep. “What’s the matter with you?”