He reached out, and jogged the shoulder of him who snored.
"Say, Gene, if you've got to sleep at the top of your voice, you better drag your bed down into the orchard," he growled.

"Let up a little, can't yuh ?" "Ah, shut up and let a fellow sleep!" mumbled Gene, snuggling the covers up to his ears.
"Just what I want YOU to do.

You snore like a sawmill.

Darn it, you've got to get out of the grove if yuh can't--" "Ah-h-EE-EE!" wailed a voice somewhere among the trees, the sound rising weirdly to a subdued crescendo, clinging there until one's flesh went creepy, and then sliding mournfully down to silence.
"What's that ?" The two jerked themselves to a sitting position, and stared into the blackness of the grove.
"Bobcat," whispered Clark, in a tone which convinced not even himself.
"In a pig's ear," flouted Gene, under his breath.

He leaned far over and poked his finger into a muffled form.