"Oh, yes, Mr. Moylan did; said he never took chances on having to go
hungry. It was in a flat leather pouch."

"Haversack. I have it. That will be enough to carry, with the
canteen. Now there is only one thing more before we leave. We must
impress those fellows with the notion that we are wide-awake, and on
guard yet. See any movement out there?"

"I--I am not sure," she answered doubtfully. "There is a black smudge
beyond that dead pony; lean forward here and you can see what I
mean--on the ground. I--I imagined it moved just then." She pointed
into the darkness. "It is the merest shadow, but seemed to wiggle
along, and then stop; it's still now."

Hamlin focussed his keen eyes on the spot indicated, shading them with
one hand.

"Slide back further on the seat," he whispered softly, "and let me in
next the window."

There was a moment's silence, the only sound the wind. The girl
gripped the back of the seat nervously with both hands, holding her
breath; the Sergeant, the outline of his face silhouetted against the
sky, stared motionless into the night without. Suddenly, not making a
sound, he lifted the rifle to his shoulder.




CHAPTER VIII