To prevent the feeling of utter loneliness from gaining possession of him, Fred occasionally emitted a low, soft, tremulous whistle, which was instantly responded to from the direction of Mickey.

It was the old familiar signal which they had used many a time when off on their little hunting expeditions, and either, hearing it, could not mistake its source.

But this grew wearisome at last, and he leaned back against a tree, looking out upon the moonlit valley beyond, where nothing as yet had caught his eye that looked in the least suspicious, and where everything still appeared as silent as a graveyard.
"I don't believe there are any Indians within fifty miles," he muttered, impatiently; "and yet we must have three or four men on the look-out till morning.

Well, I s'pose it's the only safe thing to do, and I'm bound to stick it out till one o'clock.

It must be near midnight now, and if Mickey should come around here, an hour from now, and find me asleep, I never would hear the last of it." He felt very much like sitting down upon the ground, but he knew if he did that he would be sure to fall asleep, while, as long as he kept his feet, he was sure to retain his senses.