“Perhaps we were too near it,” said I.
“That may be,” she answered, “but I have had enough smoke. Why didn't I think of it before? I brought two veils! We can put these over our faces, and wear gloves.”
She was always full of expedients.
Veiled and gloved, we bade defiance to the mosquitoes, and we sat and talked for half an hour or more. I made a little hole in my veil, through which I put the mouth-piece of my pipe.
When it became really dark, I lighted the lantern, and we prepared for a well-earned night's rest. The tent was spacious and comfortable, and we each had a nice little cot-bed.
“Are you going to leave the front-door open all night?” said Euphemia, as I came in after a final round to see that all was right.
“I should hardly call this canvas-flap a front-door,” I said, “but I think it would be better to leave it open; otherwise we should smother. You need not be afraid. I shall keep my gun here by my bedside, and if any one offers to come in, I'll bring him to a full stop quick enough.”
“Yes, if you are awake. But I suppose we ought not to be afraid of burglars here. People in tents never are. So you needn't shut it.”
It was awfully quiet and dark and lonely, out there by that creek, when the light had been put out, and we had gone to bed. For some reason I could not go to sleep. After I had been lying awake for an hour or two, Euphemia spoke:
“Are you awake?” said she, in a low voice, as if she were afraid of disturbing the people in the next room.