He was relieved, just the same, when the big cowman rode back, an hour later, and took up the vigil with him. The two talked in subdued tones as they walked back and forth, the lad expressing the opinion that they would find Stacy unharmed when they once discovered the mysterious place into which he had unwittingly stumbled. "You see, those walls are so thick that we couldn't hear him even if he did call out. He may even have gotten in where they buried those monks we've heard about. I hope not, though." "He wouldn't know it," said Big-foot. "No, probably not in the darkness. Did you bring that lantern?" "Pshaw! I forgot it. Mebby I'd better go back and get it." "No; never mind, Big-foot. The moon will be up after a time. Then we shall not need it. You are going in for the ten-thirty trick, are you not?" "That's what the boss said," replied Big-foot. The right section of the herd was now bedded within a short distance of the church. They could hear the singing of the cowboys as they circled slowly around the sleeping cattle. "Guess we are not going to have any more trouble with them," said Tad, nodding toward the herd. "Don't be too sure. I feel it coming. I have a feeling that trouble ain't more'n a million miles away at this very minute." "I wish you wouldn't talk that way. You'll get me feeling creepy, first thing you know. I've got to stay here all night," said Tad. Big-foot laughed. They passed the time as best they could until the hour for the departure of the cowboy arrived. Then Tad was left alone once more. He circled about the church, listening. Once he thought he heard the hoof-beats of a pony. But the sound died away instantly, and he believed he must have been wrong. After half an hour Big-foot returned. The foreman had decided, so long as the cattle were quiet, to have him remain with Tad. If the cowboy should be needed in a hurry the foreman was to fire a shot in the air as a signal. Tad was intensely pleased at this arrangement. After chatting a while they lay down on the ground, speaking only occasionally, and then in low tones. The mystery of the night seemed to have awed them into silent thought. They had lain there for some time, when Tad suddenly rose on one elbow. "Did you hear that?" he whispered. "Yes," breathed the cowman. "What--what do you think it was?" "Sounded as if some one had jumped to the ground. We'd better crawl up there. It was by the church. I told you it was coming." "Do you suppose it was Chunky?" "No. He'd be afraid of the dark. You'd hear him yelling for help." Tad had his doubts of that; but, just the same, he, too, felt that the noise they had heard had not been made by Stacy Brown. A silence of several minutes followed. The two had crawled only a few feet toward the church, when, with one common impulse, they flattened themselves on the ground and listened.