But Pedro's curiosity for the moment was fully satisfied, and, without making any reply, except to mutter something about American bulls under his breath, he retreated to his dish washing.
"Sarved him right," declared Ham emphatically, as all again resumed their examination of the skin map.
When the map had been sufficiently examined, Thure again retired into Mrs. Dickson's tent, where he again concealed the map in the bosom of his shirt; and when he came out again, apparently without the map, Pedro smiled knowingly.
Before going to her tent that night Mrs. Dickson sang a number of songs, and almost weirdly beautiful her voice sounded in the still night air of that little wilderness valley, concluding with Ham's favorite "Ben Bolt." Then she bade them all good-night and disappeared into her little tent.
Mr. Dickson and Thure were to stand guard that night until the moon came up, which would be about one o'clock in the morning. Consequently, as soon as Mrs. Dickson retired, all but these two rolled themselves up in their blankets near the camp-fire and were soon sound asleep. Thure and Dickson each picked up his rifle and took his station on opposite sides of the camp and began his long silent vigil.
The skies were overcast with clouds and the darkness was so dense that the watchers could not see six feet outside of the constantly dimming circle of the firelight. In a couple of hours the fire had burnt down so low, that, from where Thure stood near the horses, he could not even see the white of Mrs. Dickson's tent, although it was not over ten yards from where he stood; and he was about to step forward to replenish it, when a dark object leaped by him, so close that he could have touched it with his outstretched rifle, and disappeared in the darkness before he could utter a word or throw his gun to his shoulder, and the next instant the air was rent by a piercing shriek from Pedro, followed by the flash and the report of his pistol and his yells of fright.
In an instant every man in the camp was on his feet, his rifle in his hands, calling excitedly: "What is the trouble?" "What has happened?" and running to where Pedro was rolling about on the ground, calling on all the saints in the Mexican calendar to protect him, seemingly frantic with fear.
"Stop that yellin', you Mexican coyote, an' tell us what has happened, quick," and Ham bent down and, seizing the squirming Pedro by the shoulders, jerked him to his feet and dragged him unceremoniously to the camp-fire, which an armful of dry fuel caused to blaze up brightly.
"Madre de Dios! I know not! I know not!" cried the man, glaring wildly about him and clinging to Ham. "Unless it was the devil of these evil mountains. I lay sleeping, rolled up in my blanket, when,—poof!—something hit my side and something big and ugly tumble all over me and I see something black and awful jump in the darkness and I grab my pistol I always sleep with me in blanket and shoot—bang!—and the big black thing give one great jump and vanish, just like a black devil, in the darkness. Santissima! I know not what he was, if he was not the devil! I—"
"I saw him rush by me so close that I might have touched him with my rifle," here broke in Thure; "but, before I could speak or shoot, he had disappeared in the darkness, and then came Pedro's shot and yells."