It was Natalie who awakened. There seemed to be some one scratching at the side of the tent near the head of her cot. She sat up, not knowing, for a moment or two, where she was. Then as she saw the gleam of the white walls of their shelter it came back to her. The others were calmly sleeping, as their deep breathing indicated.
The scratching was repeated. Then came an unmistakable sneeze, and Natalie saw the wall of the tent shake.
“Oh!” she screamed. “Some one is trying to get in! Oh, Alice—Mabel—Marie—Mrs. Bonnell! Some one is trying to get in!”
CHAPTER VIII
THE OLD MILL
Cots creaked as four forms rose to sitting positions on them. There were gasping intakes of breath. Natalie, cowering amid the coverings pointed with a shaking finger toward the tent wall near her.
“There—there!” she hoarsely whispered.
“Boys! Boys!” screamed Marie. “Oh, Jack—Blake!”
“Where’s that am—am—ammonia gun?” demanded Mabel, in shivering accents.
“I—oh, where did I put it—under my pillow? No, here it is,” and from an upturned box near her cot—a box that served as bureau and chiffonier, Mrs. Bonnell caught up her weapon.