hat he had
been listening to a night alarm, for from out of the darkness came the
low buzz of voices, another bugle was sounded, distant orders rang out,
and then by degrees the low murmur of voices died away, and once more
all was still.

"I was in hopes," thought Gray, "that our fellows were making a night
attack, giving the enemy a surprise. Why, there must be hundreds within
reach. That puts an end to my going hunting about for help as soon as
the day breaks, unless I mean us to be taken prisoners. Why, if I moved
from here I should be seen.--Asleep, Punch?" he said softly.

There was no reply, and the speaker shuddered as he stretched out his
hand to feel for his companion's forehead; but at the first touch there
was an impatient movement, and a feeling of relief shot through the
lad's breast, for imagination had been busy, and was ready to suggest
that something horrible might have happened in the night.

"Oh, I do wish I wasn't such a coward," he muttered. "He's all right,
only a bit feverish. What shall I do? Try and go to sleep till
morning? What's the good of talking? I am sure I couldn't, even if I
did try."

Then the weary hours slowly crept along, the watcher trying hard to
settle in his own mind which was the east, but failing dismally, for the
windings of the valley had been such that he could only guess at the
direction where the dawn might appear.

There were no more of the dismal bowlings of the wolves, though, the
scattered firing having effectually driven them away; but there were
moments when it seemed to the young watcher that the night was being
indefinitely prolonged, and he sighed again and again as he strained his
eyes to pierce the darkness, and went on trying to form some plan as to
his next movement.

"I wonder how long we could lie in hiding here," he said to himself,
"without food. Poor Punch in his state wouldn't miss his ration; but
by-and-by, if the French don't find us, this bitter cold will have
passed away, and we shall be lying here in the scorching sunshine--for
it can be hot in these stuffy valleys--and the poor boy will be raving
for water--yes, water. Who was that chap who was tortured by having it
close to him and not being able to reach it? Tantalus, of course! I am
forgetting all my classics. Well, soldiers don't want cock-and-bull
stories out of Lempriere. I wonder, though, whether I could crawl down
among the bushes to the edge of the torrent and fill o