children were sleeping within on their chattels. Here a tent was made
of sheets and stretched down with the branch of an overhanging tree
for a ridge-pole; and there horse-blankets were made into a canopy
and supported by upright poles. Within such covers men were asleep,
having sacks or comforters for bedding.

On a few wagon tongues, or stretched easily before fires, men
lingered, talking in steady, monotonous voices as if telling stories,
or in indifferent tones as if tempting each other to trades.

The rain had entirely ceased, though the spongy wet wood sod was not
pleasant to walk upon. "I guess," said-aunt Corinne, "we'd better go
back."

"Well, we've seen consider'ble," assented her nephew. "I guess we'd
better."

So he faced about. But quite near them arose the piercing scream of
a child in mortal fear.




CHAPTER XI.

THE DARKENED WAGON.


Aunt Corinne and her nephew felt pierced by the cry. Her hands
gripped his jacket with a shock. Robert Day turning took hold of his