"To-night," was Nort's answer, and then he put the bottle back in his pocket.
Dick's eyes lighted up. He knew the effect of a large dose of paregoric, comparatively harmless as it is in small quantities, or as Nort used it.
Now a way seemed opened for the boys. If only they could command the other elements necessary for success.
Nort made sure of one, by pouring out a cup of coffee, liberally sweetening it with sugar from the barrel head tray, and setting the beverage to one side on the ground under his cot.
The camp cook came to carry away what the boys had left—which was not much—and if he missed one cup he said nothing about it. Perhaps this was because, just then, some of the cattle tried to break out of the corral, and there was a shout raised for help—to which the cook responded. But the Greaser guard did not leave his place. Evidently his orders were imperative.
"When are you going to try it?" whispered Dick to Nort, as the shadows began to lengthen, and night settled down on the camp.
"Not until after dark—say about ten," replied Nort in a low voice. "It will take about two hours for him to fall asleep, and then we can get out, get aboard our ponies and trust to luck."
"If he only goes to sleep," sighed Dick.
"I'll give half the bottle full," whispered Nort.
The Greaser paid no attention to their talk, but sat immobile at the tent flaps. During the time the boys had been held prisoners no one had come to their canvas shelter save the cook, who brought them a plentiful supper, and also another barrel-head tray for the guard. The day had passed with several blasts having been set off, though the effect of them, and the object, was concealed from the boy ranchers.