Twilight came, and they were still sleeping. Neither had stirred an inch from his place. The little animals that hopped about in the thickets believed them dead, they were so quiet, and came nearer. Night came on, thick and dark. An owl in a tree hooted mournfully, and an owl in another tree a half mile away hooted a mournful answer. Phil and his comrade did not hear, because they still lay in their great sleep, and the doings of the world, great or small, did not concern them. Phil awoke first. It was then about midnight, and so dark in the alcove that he could not see. His eyes still heavy with sleep and his senses confused, he sat up. He shook his head once or twice, and recollection began to come back. Surely the daylight had come when he went to sleep! And where was Bill Breakstone? He heard a regular breathing, and, reaching out his hands, touched the figure of his comrade. Both had slept, and no harm had come to them. That was evident because he also touched the rifle and pistol, and they would have been the first objects taken by a creeping enemy. But surely it could not have been a dream about his going to sleep in the daylight! He remembered very well that the sun was rising and that there were golden beams on the bushes. Now it was so dark that he could see only a few faint stars in the sky, and the bashful rim of a moon. He sat up and gave Bill Breakstone a vigorous shake. "Bill," he said, "wake up! It’s night, but what night I don’t know!" Bill Breakstone yawned tremendously, stretched himself as much as the narrow space would allow, and then slowly and with dignity sat up. He, too, was somewhat confused, but he pretended wisdom while he was trying to collect his senses. The two could barely see each other, and each felt rather than saw the wonder in the other’s eyes. "Well," said Bill Breakstone at last, "I’d have you to know, Sir Philip of the Dream and the Snore, though I can’t prove that you’ve done either any more than I can prove that I haven’t done both, that we’re the genuine and true Babes in the Wood, only we’ve waked up. Here we’ve been asleep, maybe a week, maybe a month, and the pitying little birds have come and covered us up with leaves, and we’ve been warm and snug, and the wild animals haven’t eaten us up, and the bad men, that is to say the Comanches, haven’t found us. How do you feel, Phil?" "Fine, never better in my life." "That describes me, also, with beautiful accuracy. We’ll never know, maybe, how long we’ve slept, whether one day, two days, or three days, but a good spirit has been watching over us; of that I’m sure. "Phil and Bill, To sleep they went; Phil and Bill From sleep they came. Phil and Bill, They had no tent; But Phil and Bill, They are true game. Phil and Bill, The leaves, a bed, Phil and Bill, They took no ill. That’s Phil and Bill.