“I reckon he couldn’t beat me!” said Mrs. Peters.
“The fact is the old woman is the best marksman in the lot of us,” explained Mr. Peters. “She’s got a sharp, keen eye, even if she is forty-nine years old.”
“Does Miss Peters take after her mother?” inquired the tourist.
“Miss Peters? Oh, you mean Bess. No, she’ll never make the woman her mother is.”
“I should hope not if I were going to marry her,” thought Brooke.
Before ten o’clock all the inmates of the cabin were asleep. It may readily be supposed that first-class accommodations were not provided. Gerald and his friend were shown to a bed in one corner, where they threw themselves down without undressing. But neither of them were inclined to be fastidious. They were thoroughly fatigued, and were soon oblivious to all that passed around them.
Noel Brooke, though a sound sleeper, was easily aroused. About midnight he started suddenly, and lifted his head as a noise was heard outside. It was a whinny from one of the horses, that were tethered to a tree at the rear part of the cabin. The horse was evidently frightened.
“Gerald!” exclaimed Brooke, shaking his companion energetically.
Gerald opened his eyes and asked drowsily, “What’s the matter?”