"Don't be too sure. I feel it coming. I have a feeling that trouble ain't more'n a million miles away at this very minute."
"I wish you wouldn't talk that way. You'll get me feeling creepy, first thing you know. I've got to stay here all night," said Tad.
Big-foot laughed. They passed the time as best they could until the hour for the departure of the cowboy arrived. Then Tad was left alone once more. He circled about the church, listening. Once he thought he heard the hoof-beats of a pony. But the sound died away instantly, and he believed he must have been wrong.
After half an hour Big-foot returned. The foreman had decided, so long as the cattle were quiet, to have him remain with Tad. If the cowboy should be needed in a hurry the foreman was to fire a shot in the air as a signal.
Tad was intensely pleased at this arrangement. After chatting a while they lay down on the ground, speaking only occasionally, and then in low tones. The mystery of the night seemed to have awed them into silent thought. They had lain there for some time, when Tad suddenly rose on one elbow.
"Did you hear that?" he whispered.
"Yes," breathed the cowman.
"What—what do you think it was?"
"Sounded as if some one had jumped to the ground. We'd better crawl up there. It was by the church. I told you it was coming."
"Do you suppose it was Chunky?"