"I've got in six fingers of powder," he whispered.
We took a buffalo skin and a horse blanket from the stable, and armed with the gun, and an axe besides, proceeded cautiously out to the sleigh.

Tom had laid the dead lamb on the knoll.
Climbing over the fence, we ensconced ourselves in the old sleigh.

It was a chilly night, with gusts of wind from the northwest.

We laid the axe where it would be at hand in case of need; and Tom trained the gun across the fence rail in the direction of the knoll.
"Like's not he won't come till toward morning," he whispered; "but we must stay awake and keep listening for him.

Don't you go to sleep." I thought that sleep was the last thing I was likely to be guilty of.