Alf Drew halted, trembling so that he could hardly stand.
"I'm going to quit camp—-going to get out of this place," he shivered. "The ground is full of rattlers. O-o-o-oh! There's another tuning up."
Tom laughed covertly. The disturbing sound came again.
"I never saw a place like this part of the range," Alf all but sobbed, his breath catching. "Oh, won't I be glad to see a city again!"
"Just so you can find a store where you can buy cigarettes?" Tom
Reade queried.
"I wish I had one, now," moaned the young victim. "It would steady me."
"The last ones that you smoked didn't appear to steady you," the young engineer retorted. "Just see how unstrung you are. Every step you take you imagine you hear rattlers sounding their warning."
"Do you tell me, on your sacred honor," proposed Alf, "that you haven't heard a single rattler this afternoon?"
"I give you my most solemn word that I haven't," Tom answered. "Come, come, Alf! What you want to do is to shake off the trembles. Let me take your arm. Now, walk briskly with me. Inflate your chest with all the air you can get in as we go along. Just wait and see if that isn't the way to shake off these horrid cigarette dreams."
Something in Reade's vigorous way of speaking made Alf Drew obey. Tom put him over the ground at as good a gait as he judged the cigarette victim would be able to keep up.