“I’m mighty glad it was the thumb instead of the trigger finger,” said Hippy. “I may have use for that trigger finger before reaching the other end of the Apache Trail.”
“Yes, and the opportunity may come to-night,” added Grace. She then told him of her plan for guarding the camp, rather expecting that the lieutenant would protest against being called in the middle of the night to do guard duty.
On the contrary, Hippy eagerly seconded the suggestion, and promptly got out his rifle, which he began to clean and oil.
“I’m ready. Bring on your bad men,” he cried dramatically.
An hour later the camp was in silence, all, save Grace, being asleep in their tents. Her watch passed without incident. At midnight she made a tour of the camp and its immediate vicinity, and, finding the ponies quiet, returned to camp and awakened Lieutenant Wingate. The wagon team being staked down close to the camp, just to the rear of the little pup-tent in which the driver slept, needed no watching, for Ike could hear their every move.
“Nothing of a disturbing nature has occurred,” Grace informed Lieutenant Wingate who came out with rifle in hand, yawning and stretching himself. “Please keep a sharp lookout and have your rifle within reach at all times. That is no more than common prudence.”
“Now, Brown Eyes, I know what to do. Just you turn in for a night of sweet dreams, leaving all the rest to Hippy Wingate.”
Reaching her tent, Grace paused, and stood looking out until she saw Hippy stroll away and disappear in the darkness. She then undressed, crept in between the blankets and immediately went to sleep.
It seemed to Grace that she had been asleep but a few moments, when, dreaming of the war, she was awakened by what, in her dream, sounded like the explosion of a shell. Grace sprang up and ran to the door of her tent.
Two heavy rifle reports told her that trouble was afoot, and she surmised that Lieutenant Wingate was in the thick of it, but hearing the lieutenant calling to Ike in an effort to locate him, Grace began to wonder.