good rest.

Outside our tent the little "Injun fire" we had built for our own
comfort died down to coals. A short distance away, however, was a huge
bonfire around which all the savages were gathered. They squatted
comfortably on their heels, roasting meat. Behind each man was planted
his glittering long-bladed spear. The old man held the place of honour,
as befitted his flirtation with death that morning. Everybody was
absolutely happy--a good fire, plenty of meat, and strangers with whom
to have a grand "shauri." The clatter of tongues was a babel, for almost
every one talked at once and excitedly. Those who did not talk crooned
weird, improvised chants, in which they detailed the doings of the camp.

We fell very quickly into the half doze of too great exhaustion. It
never became more than a half doze. I suppose every one who reads this
has had at some time the experience of dropping asleep to the
accompaniment of some noise that ought soon to cease--a conversation in
the next room, singing, the barking of a dog, the playing of music, or
the like. The fact that it ought soon to cease, permits the falling
asleep. When, after an interval, the subconsciousness finds the row
still going on, inexcusable and unabated, it arouses the victim to
staring exasperation. That was our case here. Those natives should have
turned in for sleep after a reasonable amount of pow-wow. They did
nothing of the kind. On the contrary, I dragged reluctantly back to
consciousness and the realization that they had quite happily settled
down to make a night of it. I glanced across the little tent to where
Captain D. lay on his cot. He was staring straight upward, his eyes wide
open.

After a few seconds he slipped out softly and silently. Our little fire