By this time, it was near midnight, and shortly after, a man appeared beside him to relieve him of his watch. This new-comer was known as Jenkins, and was what the rangers termed a "green hand:" that is, he had seen little or nothing of Indian service, and was not one who could be relied upon in an emergency. Several practical jokes had been played upon him, such as getting him into the wood and raising an alarm of Indians, or firing very closely to him from concealment; and the result of these same tricks had given one or two a suspicion that he was somewhat lacking in courage, and would show the white feather if pressed to the wall.
"Careful and not get a snoozin' to-night," remarked Dingle.
"Why? you don't s'pose I would, do you?"
"Didn't know but what you might; thought I'd tell you anyway, 'cause it won't do to shut your eyes to-night."
"Why? what's the matter? What's up, eh?" queried Jenkins eagerly.
"Oh, nothin' in partickler; only I've seen Injins to-night."
"Pshaw! don't say so? You're joking, Dick?"
"Ef you think so, jest think on, but ef you don't see sights afore mornin', it'll be 'cause you can't see: that's all," and Dingle with a warning shake of his head turned to enter the block-house.
"Oh say, Dick, that ain't fair!" said Jenkins, laying his hand on his shoulder.
"What's the matter? Ain't scart, be you?" demanded the ranger, confronting him with an angry countenance.