At nine o’clock they began firing signals at intervals, and Woo Smith built up a blazing fire, but there was no response to either signal. Grace Harlowe was the least worried of the party.
“We will have supper,” she said. “Tom will be all right. Should he be lost it will not be the first time.”
“Yes, but what if he doesn’t find himself?” questioned Emma tremulously.
“In that event he will make camp and sleep in the forest, so you folks make your beds and turn in for a good night’s sleep, just as I am going to do,” urged Grace.
“Hi-lee, hi-lo!” chanted Woo.
“Stop that noise, will you!” commanded Chunky. “I am not in the mood for song this evening, and I might do you bodily harm,” he added, starting to prepare his bed. This he did by smoothing the ground with an axe swung adz-wise between his legs, then filling in the open space with dry pine needles. The Overlanders observed his work in interested silence.
“You do know how to do something, don’t you?” approved Emma.
“Someone in the outfit has to have a head with him,” retorted Chunky. “It makes me sleepy to look at it. If I weren’t sleepy I would make beds in the same way for you girls. Let Uncle Hip do it, I can’t keep awake long enough. Good night!” Stacy lay down, and the others quickly cradled under their blankets and went to sleep, watched over by the huge Sequoias that had stood sentinel on that very spot for hundreds of years.
Then, all at once, it was morning. The songs of birds filled the air, and a squirrel, whisking its tail nervously, chattered on a giant tree trunk, then darted up out of sight.