It was as quiet here at this water-hole in the great plain as it would have been in Dig’s back yard. There was not even the rustle of a breeze in the brakes.
Dig tramped back and forth along the edge of the pool, occasionally stooping down to peer through the dusk at the horses. He could see them better that way. He kept away from his sleeping chum and their outfit purposely. He did not propose to rouse Chet until it was full midnight.
He grew thirsty and started to kneel down by the side of the pool to drink. Then he remembered that the horses had quenched their thirst on this side of the water-hole, and the water was likely to be roiled and muddy. So he started around toward the other side.
The water-hole was twenty yards across and its edge was screened by bushes and brakes for most of the way. Dig looked for an opening where he could kneel and reach the water, intending to fill his canteen and bring it back with him to the camp.
Poke stamped and whinnied; but Dig did not hear his mount. He kept on until he was fully half way around the water-hole. The plain seemed quite as silent and deserted as before. He could not see the spot where his chum lay nor even the gleam of the firelight now.
Chet was quite given up to sleep. He lay on his back with the neck of his shirt open.
He did not hear the restlessness of the horses, nor any other sound about the camp. Not at first, at least. But when a rifle exploded somewhere near, Chet Havens awoke with a start.
“Hi! what’s that?” he ejaculated, and sat up suddenly, throwing off the final restraining folds of the blanket.
“Dig! where are you?” he added and, getting no answer, he scrambled to his feet and picked up his own rifle that had been lying partly under him.
His chum was nowhere to be seen. He shouted again: “Dig! Dig!” and then strained his ear to catch the reply. But there was no immediate answer and Chet found himself shaking with apprehension. What had become of his chum?