“Yes. Some time to-day I propose that we go for a tramp along the creek and up the nearby canyons, and practice a little of what I am preaching to you. We will all go and have the best kind of a time. Ah! Nora and Anne are getting breakfast.”
“Have plenty of food,” cried Hippy as he came in a few moments later with the saddles and bridles of the dead horses. “A night in the Overton trenches does give one an appetite.”
Throwing the equipment down, Hippy told Nora, Emma and Anne about the fight of the previous night, not forgetting to give himself all the credit to which he considered himself entitled.
“This is terrible,” wailed Emma. “I’m afraid of somebody or something.”
“Fiddlesticks!” rebuked Elfreda. “After going through a great war one should not have nerves. Let’s eat.”
After breakfast the defenders turned in for a few hours’ sleep, Nora and Anne in the meantime standing guard over the camp. No trouble was looked for during the day, but Grace fully expected that they would have plenty of it, in one form or another, when darkness had settled over the valley.
This apprehension was not permitted to interfere with their enjoyment of the day, so, after the sleepers had finished their naps, mess kits were packed and the party started toward the creek for an old-fashioned picnic.
Grace had a twofold reason for wishing to go to the creek and up the canyons. First, she hoped to put her companions in a better frame of mind, and for herself she wished to satisfy her curiosity as to the direction that the night raiders took after the Overton party drove them off.
Hippy Wingate was left to watch the camp—and to sleep, as Grace suspected that he would do.
Grace Harlowe, with rifle under her arm, led her party, singing college songs as she tripped along, just as she and her companions were wont to do when picnicking in the Overton hills.