"What's that?" he ejaculated under his breath as he heard a stealthy noise. Listening he heard a sound as of some one creeping up through the woods. He cocked both barrels of his shot gun, each of which carried nine buck shot, and breathlessly waited, listening and looking. Presently he fired, and instantly every member of the party was on his feet, gun in hand, for they were all sleeping with their pieces beside them.
"What is it?"
"Where is it?"
"Who is it?" and so on with question after question they bombarded little Tom.
"It's breakfast," said little Tom, calmly walking to the foot of a tree and there picking up a fat opossum.
There was a laugh, for half asleep as the boys were they saw the humor of the situation and realized under what a nervous strain they had been sleeping.
"Now go to sleep again," said Tom, "and when I wake you next time breakfast will be ready."
He went away into the woods and there dressed the opossum. Then he so far disregarded orders as to go to the fire and rig up a device for cooking the dainty animal. He cut two forked sticks, sharpened their lower ends and drove them firmly into the earth. Across these he laid another stick and from it he hung the opossum by a bit of twine which he twisted till it set and kept the roast revolving. Then he returned to the shadows, but every now and then he came back to the fire to inspect his roast and to set the string twirling anew.
Finally, just as day was breaking, little Tom aroused the rest with a demand that some of them should make some bread, brew some coffee and "make themselves generally useful," as he phrased it.
The sun was not yet up when the last bones of the pig-like little animal were picked clean and the final drop of coffee was drunk.