It seemed that I had scarcely fallen asleep when I was awakened by a consciousness of something wrong. The night was dark, but judging from the stars, it was about midnight. What was it that had aroused me? I lay still and listened. There came a tinkling of trace chains from the other side of the big cattle pen where the Adams’ camp lay. Pshaw, it was only one of the mules, nosing around the camp in search of fruit parings, as he often did. I lay back reassured and dozed once more. Again that premonition came; that peculiar instinct that thrills one into vivid wakefulness in the midst of quiet slumber. Again I sat up with a start. Again I heard mysterious noises from the direction of the other camp. I took my husband by the arm. “Dan, Dan,” I hissed. “Wake up. I hear something.” He grunted, groaned, stretched himself and sat up. “What’s the matter, Ethel?” he muttered sleepily. “I don’t know what it is, but I feel sure there is something wrong. This is the second time I’ve waked up feeling this way.” “Something wrong! What do you mean? What’s wrong?” “That’s just it. I don’t know what it is, but there is something the matter at the Adams’ camp.” “I don’t hear anything—you must have been dreaming——Don’t you feel well? I’ll get you a drink of water.” He jumped up and searched around for a cup. “What’s the matter, folks? Did the noise disturb you?” It was the cheerful voice of Mr. Adams. “Oh, Ethel’s got a notion that the bugaboos are after her,” answered Dan. “She heard that mule, I suppose. Jack tried to get into the grain as usual and got tangled in the harness. I just finished straightening him out.” “Anything I can do to help you, old man?” Dan called. “No, thank you. Everything is all right now. Go back to bylo land and never mind if you hear me fussing around. I’m going to take a high-ball.” Once more we lay down, and this time I slept soundly. I was awakened by a shout from Dan, who had risen and dressed without disturbing me. The sun was well up, but the camping ground was unaccountably silent. There was no sound of cackling hens, or of stamping, munching horses and mules; no smoke rose from the other side of the cattle pen. “Ethel, Ethel,” Dan was calling. “Come here, quick.” I wrapped a blanket about me and ran to him, then stopped in consternation. The California outfit was gone. Gone also were our odds and ends of equipment, saved from the wreck of the wheel, my emergency case, a change of clothing, all the groceries and provisions that I had worked so hard to accumulate, and last, but not least, gone were the fifty dollars, left in Mr. Adams’ hands for safe keeping, over which we had been rejoicing the night before. Dan was stamping about like a madman shouting, “I’ll kill the —— I’ll get the law on him.”