"Don't look that way," said his chum grimly, as he pulled on his clothes.
Outside the tent the lads found the Captain and engineers just emerging from their shelters.
Along the road for a mile in front of the machine, huge bonfires were burning.
"They have fired the woodpiles!" Charley exclaimed. "Well, let 'em burn. There's more wood where that came from. Let's make for the machine; that's where the shooting came from."
A few minutes' walk brought them to the digger, where they found the Spanish guards excited but unhurt. They had fired the guns to let the camp know of the fire. They were so apparently nervous, however, that McCarty volunteered to stay with them the balance of the night.
"Well, it might be worse," said Charley, as the little party made their way back to camp. "They have just made more work for the teamster and woodchopper, that's all."
But, as they approached close to the camp, they were met by one of the guards. "Señors," cried the man, his voice trembling, "there is frightful groaning coming from the darkness behind our picket line."
"Where?" demanded the teamster, who had joined the little party.
"Toward the North Star, not far from our picket line," answered the shaky sentinel.
"Go back to your post, hombre," Charley ordered. "We'll get the lanterns and come right out and see what it is."