Donald Bane and James Dougall, having finished their fortress in the centre of the open lawn, as already described, returned to their fire, which, it may be remembered, was kindled close to the edge of the bushes. There they cooked some food and devoured it with the gusto of men who had well earned their supper. Thereafter, as a matter of course, they proceeded to enjoy a pipe.
The night, besides being fine and calm, was unusually warm, thereby inducing a feeling of drowsiness, which gradually checked the flow of conversation previously evoked by the pipes.
“It is not likely the redskins will come up here to give us a chance when there’s such a lot of our lads gone to meet them,” said Bane, with a yawn.
“I agree with you, Tonald,” answered Dougall grumpily.
“It is quite new to hev you agreein’ with me so much, Shames,” returned Bane with another yawn.
“You are right. An’ it is more lively to disagree, whatever,” rejoined Dougall, with an irresistible, because sympathetic, yawn.
“Oo ay, that’s true, Shames. Yie-a-ou!”
This yawn was so effusive that Dougall, refusing to be led even by sympathy, yawned internally with his lips closed and swallowed it.
The conversation dropped at this point, though the puffs went on languidly. As the men were extended at full-length, one on his side, the other on his back, it was not unnatural that, being fatigued, they should both pass from the meditative to the dreamy state, and from that to the unconscious.
It was in this condition that Salamander discovered them.