It was between two and three o'clock, and he was beginning to doze, when a low, ominous growl from Spotty caused him to start wide awake, his gun clenched in his hand.
Spotty was standing, stiff-legged, the hair on his neck raised, his lips drawn back showing his teeth, growling deeply and staring into the shadows back of the wagons.
Joe did not move, but remained motionless listening.
Presently he heard a soft rustling in the grass.
A moment later by the light of the stars he made out a dim silhouette creeping toward the wagons.
"Stop," he cried, "or I'll shoot!"
Instantly Joshua Peniman was on his feet.
"What is it?" he whispered huskily.
"Man—Indian—over there by the wagons!"
The whispered words had scarcely left his lips when an arrow whizzed by his ear.