It was the stout boy, however, who presently left the room, rifle in hand, to begin his two hour stretch.
Larry Burnham was quite amazed to find the others lying down again as though nothing had happened. But sleep for him was utterly impossible. So, miserable in mind and weary in body, he lay listening to the soft footsteps of the sentinel outside, or gazing abstractedly at the moon, which sent its searching rays through the open windows.
About the time the sun rose the last sentinel ruthlessly disturbed those still asleep.
“Peach of a night, wasn’t it!” exclaimed Tom Clifton.
“The two nights made a fine pair,” grinned Sam.
“Ho for breakfast!” cried Dave.
“Well, well,” murmured the blond lad to himself, when he discovered that no attention was paid to him. “Looks to me as if so much excitement has put it all out of their minds.”
And in this he was quite correct.
“Ha, ha! I’ll be deserter number two,” he murmured, “What a peach o’ a little ‘Fear-not’ I am. Maybe I was a bit scared last night. But the idea of gettin’ a chunk o’ lead is enough to scare any one.”
After breakfast the crowd followed Dave Brandon into the ranch-house.