"What you want, Mr. Tom?" he asked.
"I thought you were at the stern," spoke Tom. "Someone is there. Ned, throw the light on the stern!" he called sharply.
In a moment that part of the ship was in a bright glare and there, in the rays of the big lantern, was stretched out Big Foot, the Indian, comfortably sleeping.
"Here! What are you doing?" demanded Mr. Whitford, giving him a vigorous shake.
"Me sleep!" murmured Big Foot. "Lemme be! Me sleep, and take ride to Happy Hunting Grounds in air-bird. Go 'way!"
"You'll have to sleep somewhere else, Big Foot," spoke the agent with a laugh. "Koku, put him down under one of the trees over there. He can finish his nap in the open, it's warm."
The Indian only protested sleepily, as the giant carried him off the ship, and soon Big Foot was snoring under the trees.
"He's a queer chap," the custom officer said. "Sometimes I think he's a little off in his head. But he's good natured."
Once more they resumed their watching. It was growing more and more wearisome, and Tom was getting sleepy, in spite of himself.
Suddenly the silence of the night was broken by a distant humming and throbbing sound.