“Good-night, sir,” said Gedge, snuggling himself as close as he could, and nestling among the fir-needles. “Here,” he muttered; “and I was grumbling because I had to carry this here coat. Why, it’s a patent feather-bed, wool mattress, and blankets, all in one. Scrumptious!—How my trotters aches!—And if one comes supper-hunting he’ll wake us by pawing us about and sniffing. ‘Use your revolver then, only make sure of his head,’ he says. Just as if I was going to fire at his tail! I say, though, have bears got tails? I never see one at the ’Logical Gardens as had—and it don’t matter now. Well, this here is a change, and—and—”
The next muttered word somehow stretched itself out thin, and into a long deep-sighing breath, which seemed to be the echo of another close at hand, and to have nothing to do with the cool breeze which rushed through the pines, making that soft peculiar sound as of the sea breaking upon a sandy shore; for the two adventurers, relieved of their loads, and tightly buttoned up in their poshtins, were sleeping the sleep of the weary through that long night, undisturbed by enemy, wild beast, or dream.
Chapter Twenty Six.
Human Stalking.
“Eh? Yes, sir. All right, sir? I’m awake. Didn’t know it was my turn to-night.”
“It is morning, Gedge,” said Bracy as he bent over his companion, whose face was just visible in the faint grey light which seemed to be creeping in beneath the fir-boughs.
“My word, sir, so it is! I thought I was being called for sentry-go. Nights seems precious short up here in the hills.” Bracy laughed.
“Oh no,” he said; “we’ve had a good long rest. Now, then. We must have our wash at the first stream we come to. Let’s get on at once.”