The place was as silent as a graveyard. There was nothing moving but the flickering camp-fire which cast weird shadows on the tents. The two plebes were motionless, listening.
“Eleven o’clock and all’s we-ell!”
It was the sentry’s call.
“We’re on time,” whispered Mark. “Do you see any signs of Bull?”
“I ain’t seen anything movin’ yet,” was the Texan’s answer. “I ain’t expectin’ to see much, either.”
“Perhaps he’s waiting for us out in the woods,” suggested Mark.
“Likely, I must say!” growled the other.
“What’ll we do now?”
“Let’s cross the sentry line and wait at the edge of the woods,” said Mark. “If there’s any noise we can skip in from there.”
“Come ahead,” answered Texas.