re it, eating his food, he noticed great numbers of last
year's fallen leaves lying about, and he picked the very place where he
would make his bed. He would draw great quantities of the leaves there
under the big beech, and spread his blankets upon them.

They were tired after the long day's journey, and they did not talk
much. The foliage about them was so thick, making it so dark within the
little shade that the need of a watch seemed small, but they decided to
keep it, nevertheless. The Ring Tailed Panther would take the first half
of the night and Urrea the second half. The next night would be divided
between Obed and Ned.

Ned raked up the leaves at the place that he had selected, folded
himself between his blankets, and was asleep in five minutes. The last
thing that he remembered seeing was the broad figure of the Ring Tailed
Panther, sitting with his back against a tree, and his rifle across his
knees.

But Ned awoke hours later--after midnight in fact--although it was not a
real awakening, instead a sort of half way station from slumberland. He
did not move, but opened his eyes partly, and saw that Urrea was now on
guard. The young Mexican was not sitting as the Ring Tailed Panther had
been, but was standing some yards away, with his rifle across his
shoulder. Ned thought in a vague way that he looked trim and strong, and
then his heavy lids dropped down again. But he did not fall back into
the deep sleep from which he had come. The extra sense, his remarkable
power of intuition or divination was at work. Without any effort of his
will the mechanism of his brain was moving and gave him a signal. He
heard a slight noise and he lifted the heavy lids.

Urrea had walked to the other side of the little glade, his feet
brushing some of the dry leaves as he went. There was nothing unusual in
such action on the part of a sentinel, but something in Urrea's attitude
seemed to Ned to denote expectancy. His whole figure was drawn close
together like that of one about to spring, and he leaned forward a
little. Yet this meant nothing. Any good man on guard would be attentive
to every sound of the forest, whether the light noise made by a
squirrel, as he scampered along the bark of a tree, or a stray puff of
wind rustling the leaves.

Ned made another effort of the will, and closed his eyes for the second
time, but the warning sense, the intuitive note out of the infinite,
would not be denied. He was compelled to open h