"No one knows that," Dick answered. "But I think we'd better keep one fellow on guard when the rest go to bed. The guard can take a two hour trick. He can keep the fire going, and, if anything happens, he can warn the other fellows in turn."
So, at nine o'clock, when the others turned in, Greg, the air rifle in one hand, paced softly up and down the cabin, watching, listening.
But nothing happened during Greg's watch. At eleven he called Tom Reade to relieve him.
Just before midnight the same wailings as on the night before started in again. Within sixty seconds all of the Grammar School boys were awake and listening. The wailings continued, and soon came the same sepulchral warnings of death approaching.
"Queer that the racket doesn't bother us the way it did last night, isn't it?" smiled Dick Prescott.
"It's awful enough!" shivered Hen Dutcher. But he was the only one in the cabin who was much alarmed.
"We went all through it last night, and nothing happened," chuckled Dave. "To-night our address is Missouri, and we'll have to be shown what we're asked to believe."
"Call us promptly, Tom, if anything real happens," Dick urged, and sank back in his bedding to compose himself for more sleep. Soon Reade's watch was a lonely one, for most of his companions were either snoring or breathing heavily.
"Whoever got this trick up will have to think of something newer and more 'scary,'" thought Reade, as he paced the floor.
"Well, you fellows might as well wake up," called Dick, after what seemed to Greg like an interval of possibly five minutes. Greg was the only boy, beside Dutcher, who hadn't been called in the night for a share in the watch duty.