“No. Perry here has seen their relatives at home.”
“I? No, father,” said the boy wonderingly.
“Nonsense. What about the nightjars you have seen hawking round the oak trees in Surrey, after sunset?”
“Oh yes, I remember them,” cried Perry.
“Well, these are, I fancy, birds of a similar kind, but instead of frequenting trees, they live in flocks in these dark caverns, and go out of a night to feed. Our light startled them just as they were about to take flight. This must be one of their great breeding-places.—But no more chatter. Sleep, and get a good night’s rest.”
Easier said than done. The boys lay down in company with John Manning, but it was long enough before either Cyril or Perry could drop off! They would close their eyes, but only by an effort, for they were always ready to start open again at some sound high up on one or the other side of the narrow winding valley. It was cold too, in spite of the blankets, and when Cyril did at last slumber, he felt that he could hardly have been asleep an hour, as he started up into wakefulness again.
Something was wrong he was sure, and he stretched out his hand to touch John Manning, who awoke instantly and sat up.
“All right,” he said, in a low voice.
“No, no, don’t move,” whispered Cyril, grasping his arm. “I fancied I heard something.”
“Eh? Fancied? Perhaps it was fancy, sir. I’ll ask the colonel.”