The mule stared in toward him, and Cyril made a bull, as a sudden thought flashed through his mind.
“Why, it’s to-morrow morning!” he mentally exclaimed as he started up, “and I’ve been asleep all this time.”
He went to where the colonel sat, and though the stones rattled a little beneath his feet, the watcher did not stir, but sat as if gazing straight out past the mule, when Cyril said reproachfully:
“You shouldn’t have let me sleep so long, sir.”
But there was no answer, and at that moment there was a dull sound, a whinnying sigh, as the mule gave a violent start, throwing out its legs in all directions, and scattering the stones before gathering itself together, and making a tremendous leap to go galloping away, not so quickly, though, but that Cyril saw it had a long arrow sticking in its back.
“What’s that? Who? You, Cyril?” cried the colonel, springing to his feet. “What! Have I been to sleep?”
“I don’t know, sir; I only just woke up.”
“Why, it’s morning,” cried the colonel angrily. “What was that noise?”
“The old mule. Some one shot an arrow, and stuck it in her back.”
“But how came it there? I—I—Ah! and I blamed you, boy, for falling asleep at your post.”