watch, on which to concentrate his mind. The care of his wounded mate engaged his attention when he was not watching the Turks. Now, Carson slept. And, stark and stiff, the body of Perkins served him as a back rest, as he sat, legs asprawl straight out in front of him.
The mysterious night noises of the hills, intensified a hundredfold by the echoes, filled the air with vague, unreal whisperings, as if the dead walked through the night, whispering to themselves and him. His head throbbed from the sun which had beat down on him all day. He broke into a sweat, despite the chill; felt himself cringing with unnamed dread, greater than any fear ever experienced when he looked Death in the eyes, smiling and unconcerned. A sudden tinkling sound caused him to spring frantically to the gun, and sear the darkness with the flashes from its muzzle. Whether or not the Turks had ventured into the open, he did not know.
"My Gawd, my Gawd! will the bleeders ever come!" he cried aloud; and then shrank within himself at the sound of his voice, thin and flat in the pervasive stillness. And he had not noticed till then how very still it was, as if the whispering dead ceased for a moment, listening to his cry.
"Bloody well balmy; off my chump," he muttered, getting control of his jangled nerves.
