“You mean you will,” growled Mark drowsily. “Go to sleep.”
“Go to sleep! Why—oh, it’s you, is it?”
“Get up; get up. Come back—come back!” came from just outside the waggon, and Dean was fully awake now to the fact that Mak was leaning over the hind waggon chest and reaching in to try this novel way of waking him up to carry out the arrangement made overnight.
“All right, Mak. Coming. Rouse up, Mark, or we shall be too late.”
“Eh? Yes; all right.”
A few minutes later the boys were off, double guns on shoulders and a plentiful supply of number five cartridges in their belts, with the dimly-seen figure of Mak striding away in front.
“I did feel so sleepy,” said Mark.
“I didn’t,” said Dean. “I could do nothing but dream about trying to get through the forest. Ugh!” he added, with a shiver. “It was horrid!”
“What was horrid?”
“Being lost.”