Now one snore ceased. Injun Joe sat up, stared around⁠—smiled grimly upon his comrade, whose head was drooping upon his knees⁠—stirred him up with his foot and said:

“Here! You’re a watchman, ain’t you! All right, though⁠—nothing’s happened.”

“My! have I been asleep?”

“Oh, partly, partly. Nearly time for us to be moving, pard. What’ll we do with what little swag we’ve got left?”

“I don’t know⁠—leave it here as we’ve always done, I reckon. No use to take it away till we start south. Six hundred and fifty in silver’s something to carry.”

“Well⁠—all right⁠—it won’t matter to come here once more.”

“No⁠—but I’d say come in the night as we used to do⁠—it’s better.”