"Oh, I beg your pardon, sir. I was dreaming that I was at home and that you had come to tell me that you had heard poachers. All right, sir," said the man, creeping into the shadow after getting his rifle. "You've got the fire going, then?" "Yes, but you had better throw on another armful soon." "Oh, yes, sir; all right. All been quiet?" "Yes, except that howling brute; but I haven't heard him for the last hour. You are quite awake, aren't you?" "Awake, sir? Oh, yes," said the man, shouldering his piece and walking beside his young master to the other waggon. "Good-night," said Mark. "I can hardly keep my eyes open now." "Same here," muttered the man, as Mark climbed to his resting-place, so heavily assailed by sleep that he was hardly conscious of his words. Then all was silent but for the heavy breathing of the sleepers and an occasional stamp from one of the picketed ponies. CHAPTER FOURTEEN. A PRETTY DANCE. It was not a feather-bed; there was neither bolster nor pillow; and a single blanket laid across three sacks of Indian corn did not counteract the hard nubbly feeling. But a couple more blankets drawn over the lad right up to his chin thoroughly kept off the crisp coolness of the air on the high plateau of a country where the sun was broiling by day. Youth, health, exercise and an open-air life did the rest to make that sleeping place a perfect Elysium. Add to the above a long watch in the darkness, and it is not surprising that as Mark Roche stretched out his legs to the fullest extent as he lay upon his back, he uttered a low, long, soft "Hah-h-h!" and the next instant was fast asleep. How long that lasted he could not tell, but he half awoke; better still, one may say he only one quarter awoke bodily; mentally he was so to speak soaked, saturated with sleep, and his waking was only into a kind of confusion out of which he could not rouse himself. All he knew was that something was dreadfully wrong--when--how--where-- he could not make out. There was a great noise going on, and the darkness was something horrible. This seemed to last for a long time--seemed only, and he began to struggle as if a heavy body was lying on him and pressing him down. It was like some terrible nightmare, and as he struggled against it he threw out his arms, half fancying that he was fighting to save himself from being suffocated in a flood that was not liquid but solid and hard. Then one hand came in contact with something soft, which he realised to be a human face, and then just a faint ray of understanding flashed through his muddled brain and he knew where he was, and that the face must be his cousin's. Then the mental darkness closed in again and he was as confused as ever. The noise went on, and he could not tell what it was till after a short interval another ray of light dawned upon him and he caught at and shook his companion, who was sharing the sacks, and sleeping so hard that Mark's attempts to rouse him were in vain.