Tom Gordon flushed with pride in the darkness; and his heart was glad that he had passed his first test in the hard, cruel school of Indian warfare.
By this time the heavily-snoring Captain Van Alstyne had finally roused from his deep slumbers. He now bustled up, with evident irritation.
“What goes on here?” he demanded testily. “What’s the cause of this infernal racket?”
“Injuns, Cap’n!” explained Bill Brown.
“Indians, humph! I don’t see any.”
“Well, Tom here saw one, with his own eyes, tryin’ to stampede the horses.”
“Bosh, boy,” cried the moon-face officer, “most likely a shadow. Get your nerves under control, if you’re to be any good out here on this wild border.”
“Oh, I saw a warrior, sir,” protested the boy. “He was in full array, feathers and war-paint.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if you dreamed the whole thing,” snapped Van Alstyne. “Probably asleep at your post. In the future, I want guards set who will stay awake and keep their wits about them.”
“I was the second guard, sir,” broke in Jim Martin. “I never set eyes on the red jack-a-napes, but I heard him howl.”