"Looks as if we had given th' skunks th' slip at last," Ham said, as he seated himself on his blanket, spread near the blazing fire, and leaned back comfortably on his elbow. "An' I don't wonder; for I don't believe even Kit Carson himself could have kept on our trail through all them short twistin' gulches an' thick woods, through which we've ben passin' for th' past tew days. Howsomever, I reckon, we hadn't better let up none on th' caution bus'ness--But, let us forgit them skunks an' turn our minds tew more pleasant things, like a song from th' Leetle Woman," and he turned to Mrs. Dickson. "I jest sorter feel hungry for music tonight. Please sing 'Old Dan Tucker,' an' Th' Emergrants Lament' an'--" "'Ben Bolt,'" laughed Thure. "Shore," grinned Ham. "I couldn't go tew sleep without hearin' 'Ben Bolt,' but let us have 'Old Dan Tucker' first." Mrs. Dickson was in splendid voice that night and sang with unusual fervor, even for her; and the men kept begging her for "just one more song," until, at last, with a laugh, she declared she just couldn't sing another song, and, bidding them all good night, hurried into her tent. The guard was again doubled that night and instructed to keep the camp-fire blazing brightly. Hammer Jones, Frank Holt, Mr. Randolph, and Dill Conroyal, were to keep the first watch, through the darkest hours of the night, before the moon came up. The night was clear and the starlight bright enough to make objects dimly visible a few rods away. The grove where they were encamped was not large and the guards were stationed in its outskirts, where they could patrol all around it. Hammer Jones' post was near the horses, on the opposite side of the grove from the lake. About twenty rods from him, out on the open valley stood a large tree, with three or four smaller trees growing around it. In the starlight he could see the outlines of these trees dimly. He stationed himself in the dark shadows of a large tree, where he could keep one eye on the horses and the camp, illuminated by the blazing camp-fire, and the other on the surrounding valley. For a couple of hours he neither saw nor heard a suspicious sign or sound. Then from the little clump of trees came the hoot of an owl that caused him to straighten up quickly and to listen intently. Ham had spent the greater part of his life in the wilderness; and the voices of its wild dwellers were as familiar to him as were the voices of his fellow men; and something in the first hoot of that owl had awakened his suspicions. It did not sound exactly right. There was a false quaver at the end. In a minute the hoot was repeated, still with that unnatural quaver at its end.