The lad, thoroughly disgusted, looked around for a suitable place. Some distance back from the stream a hollow fringed by a growth of scrubby trees and bushes was discovered.
“Just as good as though it had been made to order,” he murmured, when he presently dismounted and picketed his horse.
Now hunger, thirst and weary bones were beginning to occupy a prominent place in his thoughts. Working hard, he built a fire and cooked supper.
By the time it was eaten the sky was already growing gray and somber. Watching the slow approach of night alone wasn’t half so much fun as when his friends surrounded him. Perhaps never before had he felt quite so lonely, or been so much impressed by the solemnity of nature.
“I won’t be sorry when the moon shows its face,” he reflected. “Gee whiz—I wonder how poor old Larry feels!”
Before it became too dark he watered his horse; then returning to the hollow piled on wood until the tongues of fiercely shooting flames sent a ruddy illumination far beyond the camp.
For a while he walked up and down some distance out on the prairie. The stars were shining brightly, but the intense blackness finally drove the Rambler back to the little hollow, the only spot in the great expanse which seemed to hold a ray of cheer.
At last Tom spread his blanket over the ground and lay down. He began to think of the splendid account of his experiences he could give his school-fellows.
Then the hush of the night, the playful gleams of the fire, combined with his own fatigue, made a drowsy feeling steal over him; and, on the border line between sleeping and waking, he lay, scarcely stirring as time passed on.
Dimly it began to be impressed upon his mind that the moon was rising. He could see a glow over the hills which vaguely suggested a far-off conflagration. A bright rim presently crept over the brow. He was glad. The awesome darkness would fly.