"Yes, if you are awake. But I suppose we ought not to be afraid of burglars here. People in tents never are. So you needn't shut it."
It was awfully quiet and dark and lonely, out there by that creek, when the light had been put out, and we had gone to bed. For some reason I could not go to sleep. After I had been lying awake for an hour or two, Euphemia spoke:
"Are you awake?" said she, in a low voice, as if she were afraid of disturbing the people in the next room.
"Yes," said I. "How long have you been awake?"
"I haven't been asleep."
"Neither have I."
"Suppose we light the lantern," said she. "Don't you think it would be pleasanter?"
"It might be," I replied; "but it would draw myriads of mosquitoes. I wish I had brought a mosquito-net and a clock. It seems so lonesome without the ticking. Good-night! We ought to have a long sleep, if we do much tramping about to-morrow."
In about half an hour more, just as I was beginning to be a little sleepy, she said:
"Where is that gun?"
"Here by me," I answered.
"Well, if a man should come in, try and be sure to put it up close to him before you fire. In a little tent like this, the shot might scatter everywhere, if you're not careful."
"All right," I said. "Good-night!"
"There's one thing we never thought of!" she presently exclaimed.
"What's that?" said I.
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