Slowly the sun sunk below the tree-tops of the haunted forest; slowly the shades of the damp night stole on; and the watcher in the cabin waited for night, trembling.
Darkness came at length, black and damp. There had been a little loud laughter and coarse merriment at the other cabin just at sunset; now all was still. She heard some one come toward the rear of the cabin and speak to Fink. It was Bob Griffith, the scout.
“Come ter relieve yer, leftenant. How’s all inside?”
“Hunky. But she won’t last long.”
“Ay? How’s that?”
“She don’t git any thing ter nibble on.”
“So? Capt’in’s playin’ the game fine.”
“You bet! No use buckin’ ag’in’ him. Who’s after you on the watch?”
“Downing. From midnight till mornin’.”
Fink stalked away, and Griffith sat leaning against the cabin. Katie could hear him breathe, and draw at his everlasting pipe.