The two men were yet lying in the hole; they had not observed my short absence, I was glad to see. I did not know these men, and I would not like them to know that I had left my post. Yet I felt that I had done right in leaving it; I had deserted it, technically speaking, but only to take a proper precaution, in regard to the post itself. Then, what is a man's post? Merely the ground with which the soles of his feet are in touch? If he may move an inch, how far may he move? Yet I was glad that the men had not seen me move and come back, and I was glad, too, that they had made the proposal that I should take the first watch, for I had discovered danger that must be remedied at once. It was almost time now for one of these men to take my place. My fear increased. The motionless men at my right, unconscious of any new element of danger, added to my nervousness. I must do something. I walked to the men and spoke in a low tone. "Who stands watch next?" "Me. But it's not time yet." "Not quite," I said; "but it will be soon. I want you to go back to the line and tell Sergeant Willis that I'd like to see him a minute." "Go yourself," he said; "I'm not under your orders." "If you will do what I ask, I'll take your watch for you," said I. The tempting offer was accepted at once; the man rose and said, "What is it you say I'm to tell him?" The other man also had risen. "Only that I want to see him." "Anything wrong?" "No; tell him I want to see him for a moment out here; that is all." The man went; his companion remained standing--he had become alarmed, perhaps. When Willis came I was under the tree. "What's up, Jones?" "I want to know what that dark line means there in front." "It's a gully," says he. "I wish you would go out there and look about you; I think our post ought to be where we can see into it." "All right," said he; "I'll go and look at it." I remained on post. It would not do, I thought, to give any intimation to the men that I had been to the ravine; they were standing near me. In two minutes Willis returned. "Jones," says he; "move your post up here. You men stay where you are." We went out together, Willis and I, to the edge of the ravine. "You're right, Jones," he says, in a whisper; "the post ought to be here." "Yes; it would be easy for those fellows over yonder to surprise us. This ravine ought to be watched in the day even." The sergeant showed no intention of leaving me; he seemed to be thinking. Suddenly he gave his thigh, a resounding slap. "There!" says he, "now I've done it--but maybe they won't know what that noise means. Say, Jones, I've got an idea." "Let's have it." "We can get lots of fun out here." "I don't understand. What are you driving at?" "Well," says he, "you just leave it all to me. Don't you say a word to them fellows. I'll fix it up and let you in, too. Just be mum now, old man." "Tell me what you mean." But he had already started back.