"Keep your eyes skinned for a chance to lay out the guard to-night and get his gun," Holt said quickly.
Gordon nodded. "I don't know that I've got to do everything just as you say," he complained aloud for the benefit of George, who was passing on his way to the place where the horses were hobbled.
"Now—now! There ain't nobody trying to boss you," Holt explained in a patient voice.
"They'd better not," snapped the invalid.
"Some scrapper—that kid," said the horse wrangler with a grin.
Macy took the first watch that night. He turned in at two after he had roused Dud to take his place. The cook had been on duty about an hour when Elliot kicked Holt, who was sleeping beside him, to make sure that he was ready. The old man answered the kick with another.
Presently Gordon got up, yawned, and strolled toward the edge of the camp.
"Don't go and get lost, young fellow," cautioned Dud.
Gordon, on his way back, passed behind the guard, who was sitting tailor fashion before a smudge with a muley shotgun across his knees.