the fire.

"How'd'y, Tom."

"How'd'y, Zeb."

"On watch ter night?"

"No; you?"

"No. Glad of it."

"Me, too."

"This is whar Taos Bill war sculped, ain't it?"

"They killed 'im but didn't git his ha'r."

"How'd it happen?"

"Owl screeched an' a wolf howled. Bill snuk off ter find out about it."

"Arrer pizened?"

"Yes; usually air."

"Whar ye goin'?"

"Ter th' crick fer water."

"I'm goin' ter see th' capting. Good night."

"Good night; wish it war good mornin', Zeb."

"Me, too. Good night."

At that instant an owl screeched, the quavering, eerie sound softened by
distance.

"Hear that?"

The mournful sound of a wolf floated through the little valley.

"An' that? Wolves don't generally answer owls, do they?"

"Come along ter th' crick, Zeb. Thar ain't no tellin'."

"I'm with ye," and the two figures moved silently away.

The silence around the camp-fire was profound and reflective, but there
was some squirming and surreptitious examination of caps and flints. The
questioning call of the hoot owl was answered by a weird, uncanny,
succession of sharp barks growing closer and faster, ending in a
mournful, high-pitched, long-drawn, quavering howl. The noisy activity
of the encampment became momentarily slowed and then went on again.

The first guard came off duty with an apparent sense of relief and grew
very loquacious. One of them joined the silent circle of tenderfeet
around the blazing fire.

"Phew!" he grunted as he sat down. "Hear those calls?" His question
remained unanswered, but he did not seem surprised. "When you go on,
Doc?" he asked.

"One o'clock," answered Dr. Whiting. He looked around pityingly.
"Calls?" he sneered. "Don't you know an owl or a wolf when you hear
one?" There was a lack of sincerity in his voice which could not be
disguised. The doctor was like the boy who whistled when going through
the woods.

Midnight came and went, and half an hour later the corporal of the next
watch rooted out his men and led them off to relieve the present guard.
He cautioned them again against standing up.

"To a Injun's eyes a man standin' up on th' prairie is as plain as
Chimbly Rock," he asserted. "Besides, ye kin see a hull lot better if
yer eyes air clost ter th' ground, lookin' agin' th' horizon. Don't git
narvous, an' don't throw th' camp inter a scare about nothin'."

An hour later an owl hooted very close to Dr. Whiting and he sprang to
his feet. As he did so he heard