Sometimes twigs crackled and broke, and, once, they heard bush-branches press aside and spring back into place.
"If that other thing was a panther, this is an elephant," was Billy's uncheering opinion. "It's got weight. Listen to that. An' it's comin' nearer."
There were frequent stoppages, then the sounds would begin again, always louder, always closer. Billy sat up in the blankets once more, passing one arm around Saxon, who had also sat up.
"I ain't slept a wink," he complained. "--There it goes again. I wish I could see."
"It makes a noise big enough for a grizzly," Saxon chattered, partly from nervousness, partly from the chill of the night.
"It ain't no grasshopper, that's sure."
Billy started to leave the blankets, but Saxon caught his arm.
"What are you going to do?"
"Oh, I ain't scairt none," he answered. "But, honest to God, this is gettin' on my nerves. If I don't find what that thing is, it'll give me the willies. I'm just goin' to reconnoiter. I won't go close."
So intensely dark was the night, that the moment Billy crawled beyond the reach of her hand he was lost to sight. She sat and waited. The sound had ceased, though she could follow Billy's progress by the cracking of dry twigs and limbs. After a few moments he returned and crawled under the blankets.
"I scared it away, I guess. It's got better ears, an' when it heard me comin' it skinned out most likely. I did my dangdest, too, not to make a sound.--O Lord, there it goes again."
They sat up. Saxon nudged Billy.
"There," she warned, in the faintest of whispers. "I can hear it breathing. It almost made a snort."
A dead branch cracked loudly, and so near at hand, that both of them jumped shamelessly.
"I ain't goin' to stand any more of its foolin'," Billy declared wrathfully. "It'll be on top of us if I don't."
"What are you going to do?" she queried anxiously.
"Yell the top of my head off. I'll get a fall outa whatever it is."
He drew a deep breath and emitted a wild yell.
The result far exceeded any expectation he could have entertained, and Saxon's heart leaped up in sheer panic. On the instant the darkness erupted into terrible sound and movement.
There were trashings of underbrush and lunges and plunges of heavy bodies in different directions. Fortunately for their ease of mind, all these sounds receded and died away.
"An' what d'ye think of that?" Billy broke the silence.
"Gee! all the fight fans used to say I was scairt of nothin'.
Just the same I'm glad they ain't seein' me to-night."
He groaned. "I've got all I want of that blamed sand. I'm goin' to get up and start the fire."
This was easy. Under the ashes were live embers which quickly ignited the wood he threw on. A few stars were peeping out in the misty zenith. He looked up at them, deliberated, and started to move away.
"Where are you going now?" Saxon called.
"Oh, I've got an idea," he replied noncommittally, and walked boldly away beyond the circle of the firelight.
Saxon sat with the blankets drawn closely under her chin, and admired his courage. He had not even taken the hatchet, and he was going in the direction in which the disturbance had died away.
Ten minutes later he came back chuckling.
"The sons-of-guns, they got my goat all right. I'll be scairt of my own shadow next.--What was they? Huh! You couldn't guess in a thousand years. A bunch of half-grown calves, an' they was worse scairt than us."
He smoked a cigarette by the fire, then rejoined Saxon under the blankets.
"A hell of a farmer I'll make,', he chafed, "when a lot of little calves can scare the stuffin' outa me. I bet your father or mine wouldn't a-batted an eye. The stock has gone to seed, that's what it has."
"No, it hasn't," Saxon defended. "The stock is all right. We're just as able as our folks ever were, and we're healthier on top of it. We've been brought up different, that's all. We've lived in cities all our lives. We know the city sounds and thugs, but we don't know the country ones. Our training has been unnatural, that's the whole thing in a nutshell. Now we're going in for natural training. Give us a little time, and we'll sleep as sound out of doors as ever your father or mine did."
"But not on sand, " Billy groaned.
"We won't try. That's one thing, for good and all, we've learned the very first time. And now hush up and go to sleep."
Their fears had vanished, but the sand, receiving now their undivided attention, multiplied its unyieldingness. Billy dozed off first, and roosters were crowing somewhere in the distance when Saxon's eyes closed. But they could not escape the sand, and their sleep was fitful.
At the first gray of dawn, Billy crawled out and built a roaring fire. Saxon drew up to it shiveringly. They were hollow-eyed and weary. Saxon began to laugh. Billy joined sulkily, then brightened up as his eyes chanced upon the coffee pot, which he immediately put on to boil.
