Reluctantly, Rogers gave up his search and rejoined his companion, who was already making steady inroads upon the baked beans, bread and pickles that comprised the evening meal. Supper over, the two sat before an open window, watching the colors fade from the quiet surface of the lake.
“I suppose we’ll have to take turns with the sentry stuff,” remarked Rogers, as darkness at last settled down upon the landscape. “I’ll stand watch till midnight and then you can take your turn for a couple of hours.”
To this arrangement, Beals readily agreed, and climbing into the hammock, which had been strung across a corner of the room, he was soon asleep.
For a while, Charlie Rogers sat, chin in hand, staring out into the deepening dusk. Along the northern horizon distant lightning was flashing and from this quarter heavy clouds swept up the sky, blotting out the stars and reducing the moon to a dim disc, which paled and faded behind the thickening canopy. Sounds of night life came to the ears of the watcher. Somewhere off to his left a giant bullfrog bellowed hollowly for a “jug-o-rum.” A night-hawk swooped past the window with a startling whirr of wings. From the woods on the far side of the house an owl hooted lonesomely.
Rogers got up, stretched, and glanced hopefully at the illuminated face of his watch. “Only ten-thirty!” he muttered. “Gee! This is a tedious job! I thought it must be nearly midnight!”
Returning to the window, he pillowed his head upon his folded arms and listened to the soothing splash of the little waves which a rising wind was sending upon the pebbly shore of the lake. His breathing became longer and more regular; his body sagged forward upon the sill. Once again came the hoot of an owl from the woods beyond the house and this time the cry was answered from a point closer at hand. It was the dull ache in his arms that finally brought Charlie Rogers to his senses. Again he consulted his watch.
“Quarter past one!” he gasped. “Great Scott! I must have—”
He paused in mid-thought and listened with every nerve a-tingle. Was he dreaming or had he really heard something? His pounding pulses were ticking off the seconds in his brain. Yes, there it was again! A metallic clink or rattle accompanied by a dull thud—faint but distinct.
Backing away from the window, Rogers crossed the room with noiseless steps.
“Wake up, Fatty! Wake up!” he gasped. “There’s something doing outside!”