"Close go that," O'Neill said. "Are you hurt any?"
"No, I fell clear. You got me out of a hole. I'll do as much for you some day."
"All in a day's work," O'Neill said. "'Struth! I reckon it's time for a pipe."
Quite suddenly the night stepped into the shoes of day. Darkness arrived in a hurry, and the stars pushed themselves out of the sky. The camp was chosen, the first watch was set. The horses, hobbled and with bells about their necks, moved musically into the shadows, the little company found the way to the cook's fire. There was stew in the camp oven, and a ladle at hand. A pile of tin dishes was on the ground. The Johnnie-cake waited on a box, and the earth lay spread for a table. There is many a worse roof than the sky offers, and many a more restless bed than a mattress of grasses.
Supper ended, and there came the hour when pipes are pulled out. Power went out of the firelight presently, and listened to the mob getting to camp for the night. There was a little bellowing from over there, and now and then sounds of scurry, but nothing to cause unquiet. He came back to O'Neill. "I'm going across to Gregory's for a while," he said. "He was talking about a copper show of his. I'll be back for my watch. I don't think you will have any trouble. Good night." He thought O'Neill looked up over-quickly. "I don't think you will have any trouble," he repeated. "Would you sooner I stayed? I will if you like."
"There's no need, boss," said the other indifferently. "I didn't know you knew them over there." The man began whistling.
"So long, then."
"So long, boss."