The moon was high in the heavens by this time; one could almost have seen to read.
"They won't dare to try it," thought Mark. "A snake couldn't creep up on me now. They'll have to come from the camp, too, for they can't cross any sentry beat. But I'll watch, all the same."
His heart was beating fast then, he could almost regulate his step by it. Outside of that all was ghostly and silent, except for the breathing of the sleepers in the nearest tents of Company A. Once, too, he heard the distant roar of a train as it whirled down the river valley, and once the faint chug chug of a steamboat that passed on the water. But for the most part the camp was unbroken in its peacefulness.
Tramp, tramp. Down the path to the sentry box, right about, and back again. His post—number three—extended from the upper end of the colorline on which two and six were marching, down along the north side of the camp skirting the tents of Company A—his own—with the deep ditch of Fort Clinton right to the left, past the tent of Fischer, the first captain, and that of the adjutant, and ending near the water tank. Tramp! tramp!
It was just a few minutes more before the corporal of the relief came around, testing the sentries' knowledge of the orders of the night. Later still came the cadet officer of the guard, with a clank of sword; and he passed on, too. Tramp, tramp. And still no sign of trouble. Mark's challenge, "Who comes there?" had been heard but once, and that by the corporal.
"Will they try it?" he thought. "Now's the time. Will they try it?"
The answer came soon. Peering ahead with the stealthiness of a cat, glancing back over his shoulder every minute, watching every moving shadow, listening for every faintest sound. Tramp, tramp. Eastward toward the river; he reached the water tank, where the shade was the thickest, where stood the only bushes that could conceal a lurking foe. Opposite the tent of the bootblack he halted and started back again, where the path lay clear in the moonlight. Tramp, tramp. He could see number two, far down in the distance, his white trousers glistening as he marched. He saw the shadows of the trees waving, he heard the breathing of the sleepers.
Then suddenly came the attack. There was a quick step behind him, and everything grew dark. A cloth was flung about his mouth, and two pair of hands about his writhing, sinewy body. Down he went to the ground, fighting with every ounce of muscle that was in him. And after that there was fun to spare.