The boy ranchers—only two of them now, for Bud was taking a much-needed rest, stood silent in the darkness, on one edge of the camp. They listened "with all their ears," for they were, if not exactly in the enemy's territory, at least within striking distance of the Yaquis, and every precaution must be taken.
So when Nort whispered to Dick that a suspicious noise had been heard,
Dick was only too ready to believe it.
"Where did you hear it?" Dick asked in a cautious voice when, after several seconds of intent listening, neither had caught a sound.
"Off there," replied Nort rather vaguely, pointing to the darkness ahead of them—a darkness where the rays of several camp fires did not penetrate, and which the starlight did not seem to pierce.
"I don't hear anything," went on Dick. "Maybe it was only the wind.
We don't want to give an alarm and—"
"Hark!" interrupted his brother in a low but tense voice.
Clearly then, to the ears of both, came the unmistakable sound of someone or something approaching. There was the crunching of gravel, and the noise of some hard substance moving on a rock.
"It's the Yaquis!" whispered Nort, as he brought his rifle to bear on the blackness in front of him. "They're creeping up to make an attack!"
Dick also got his gun in readiness for instant action, and the boys were just about to fire when a noise, best described as "unearthly," smote their ears. It was a long drawn out cry, weird and blood-curdling. That it was the warwhoop of the Yaquis both boys were beginning to believe, in spite of knowing that these Mexicans seldom if ever used such romantic if terrible means of terrifying their enemies.
I say the boys were on the verge of accepting the noise as that, when its character suddenly changed, and the stillness of the night was fairly shattered by a loud: