abreast, but in single file.

After proceeding thus for some fifty yards, they reach a spot where the
path widens, debouching upon an open space--a sort of terrace that
overhangs the channel of the stream, separated from it by a fringe of
low trees and bushes.

Pointing to it, Sime says:--

"This chile hev slep on that spread o' grass, some'at like six yeern
ago, wi' nothin' to disturb his rest 'ceptin the skeeters. Them same
seems nasty bad now. Let's hope we'll git through the night 'ithout
bein' clar eat up by 'em. An', talkin' o' eatin', I reckin we'll all be
the better o' a bit supper. Arter thet we kin squat down an' surrender
to Morpheus."

The meal suggested is speedily prepared, and, soon as despatched, the
"squatting" follows.

In less than twenty minutes after forsaking the saddle, all are astretch
along the ground, their horses "hitched" to trees, themselves seemingly
buried in slumber--bound in its oblivious embrace.

There is one, however, still awake--Clancy.

He has slept but little any night since entering the territory of!
Texas. On this he sleeps not at all--never closes eye--cannot. On the
contrary, he turns restlessly on his grassy couch, fairly writhing with
the presentiment he has spoken of, still upon him, and not to be cast
off.

There are those who believe in dreams, in the reality of visions that
appear to the slumbering senses. To Clancy's, awake, on this night,
there seems a horrid realism, almost a certainty, of some dread danger.
And too certain it is. If endowed with the faculty of clairvoyance, he
would know it to be so--would witness a series of incidents at that
moment occurring up the river--scarce ten miles from the spot where he
is lying--scenes that would cause him to start suddenly to his feet,
rush for his horse, and ride off, calling upon his companions to follow.
Then, plunging into the river without fear of the ford, he would gallop
on towards the San Saba mission, as if the house were in names, and he
only had the power to extinguish them.

Not gifted with second-sight, he does not perceive the tragedy there
being enacted. He is only impressed with a prescience of some evil,
which keeps him wide awake, while the others around are asleep; soundly,
as he can tell by their snoring.

Woodley alone sleeps lightly; the hunter habituated, as he himself
phrases it, "allers to do the possum bizness, wi' one eye open."

He has heard Clancy's repeated shiftings an