Stacy started all over again, forgot the count, came back, then tried it again. Even at that he was not sure whether he had gone one hundred yards or five.
He was awake enough, now, to observe his surroundings. The cool breezes of the night were tossing the leaves of the cottonwoods near the water course to the west of them, while here and there in the foliage might be heard the exultant notes of a mocking bird.
Stacy shivered.
"Guess it's going to freeze to-night," he decided, beginning his steady tramp about the camp of the Pony Rider Boys.
Muttering to himself, as was his habit when alone, Stacy kept on until finding himself opposite the ponies, he decided to go over and look at them. All were asleep. Not one had awakened since going down under the powerful influence of the "sleepy grass."
"I'd like to eat some of that stuff myself, right now," Chunky decided out loud. "I'd have a good excuse for going to sleep then. Now I can't without getting jumped on by the fellows. Wonder what time it is—only half-past one. Must be something the matter with my watch. I know I've been out more'n two hours."
This trip he circled out further from the camp, growing a little more confident because nothing had happened to disturb him.
In the meantime the camp slept in peace—that is, the lads did until nearly time for the change of guard. Then the whole party was aroused with the sudden, startling conviction that something serious had happened.
All at once the crack of a rifle sounded on the still night air. It was followed by another shot, and another, until four distinct reports had rolled across the plains.
In wild disorder the Pony Rider Boys tumbled from their cots, and, grasping their weapons, leaped from the tents.