Dead Man's Land Part 24

"Oh, yes, sir; all right. All been quiet?"

"Yes, except that howling brute; but I haven't heard him for the last hour. You are quite awake, aren't you?"

"Awake, sir? Oh, yes," said the man, shouldering his piece and walking beside his young master to the other waggon.

"Good-night," said Mark. "I can hardly keep my eyes open now."

"Same here," muttered the man, as Mark climbed to his resting-place, so heavily a.s.sailed by sleep that he was hardly conscious of his words.

Then all was silent but for the heavy breathing of the sleepers and an occasional stamp from one of the picketed ponies.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

A PRETTY DANCE.

It was not a feather-bed; there was neither bolster nor pillow; and a single blanket laid across three sacks of Indian corn did not counteract the hard nubbly feeling. But a couple more blankets drawn over the lad right up to his chin thoroughly kept off the crisp coolness of the air on the high plateau of a country where the sun was broiling by day.

Youth, health, exercise and an open-air life did the rest to make that sleeping place a perfect Elysium.

Add to the above a long watch in the darkness, and it is not surprising that as Mark Roche stretched out his legs to the fullest extent as he lay upon his back, he uttered a low, long, soft "Hah-h-h!" and the next instant was fast asleep.

How long that lasted he could not tell, but he half awoke; better still, one may say he only one quarter awoke bodily; mentally he was so to speak soaked, saturated with sleep, and his waking was only into a kind of confusion out of which he could not rouse himself.

All he knew was that something was dreadfully wrong--when--how--where-- he could not make out.

There was a great noise going on, and the darkness was something horrible. This seemed to last for a long time--seemed only, and he began to struggle as if a heavy body was lying on him and pressing him down.

It was like some terrible nightmare, and as he struggled against it he threw out his arms, half fancying that he was fighting to save himself from being suffocated in a flood that was not liquid but solid and hard.

Then one hand came in contact with something soft, which he realised to be a human face, and then just a faint ray of understanding flashed through his muddled brain and he knew where he was, and that the face must be his cousin's.

Then the mental darkness closed in again and he was as confused as ever.

The noise went on, and he could not tell what it was till after a short interval another ray of light dawned upon him and he caught at and shook his companion, who was sharing the sacks, and sleeping so hard that Mark's attempts to rouse him were in vain.

And then speech came, and the boy found himself muttering aloud, though it seemed to be somebody else talking. But now the power to put that and that together to some extent grew stronger.

"Oh, Dean, how you do sleep!" came from somewhere. "Here, wake up!"

And he grew a little better, for he felt that his lips were touching his cousin's warm ear, while now it was another voice that said drowsily, "What's the matter?"

"Ah! that's better," the other voice e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed, and he heard it plainly, though it was partially smothered by the awful confusion of strange sounds that came as it were from a distance. "Oh, how dark!"

And he knew now that it was his own voice, for he was rapidly shaking off the strange feeling of mental torpidity.

"Father! Dr Robertson! Are you there?"

His words came back to him as if his face was covered with something thick, while he fully grasped the idea now that the noise that smote his ears was somewhere far away.

"I don't know what's the matter," he muttered. "Am I ill? It can't be a dream. Here, Dean, wake up!"

"What's the matter?" came again drowsily.

"I want you to listen."

"Bother! Will in the morning."

"Oh, how can you be so stupid!"

Mark was rapidly recovering now.

_Snore_!

"Will you wake up?" And this was accompanied by a shake.

"Be quiet! Want me to hit you on the nose?"

"Yes, and I want you to shake me. I'm--I'm--oh, I don't know how I feel--yes, I do," added the boy, as the power of thinking and acting now grew stronger. "Dean!"

"Oh, bother!" cried his cousin. "Now then, what is it?" And in the darkness Mark felt his hand shaken off, and from the movement knew that his cousin had risen up into a sitting position sharply and banged himself down again, the noise he made being followed instantly by a loud snore.

"Dean!" cried Mark again, renewing his attack, and this time giving the sleeper a violent shake, which roused him again.

"Now then, what is it?"

"Listen! Do you hear that dreadful noise?"

"No-o!" came sleepily. "What is it?"

The question was asked through two folds of blanket, and naturally sounded woolly.

"Lions, I think."

"Tell them to lie down."

"Oh, don't be such a fool!"

"Nogoinabe. Wha' time is it? Goo' night."

"Dozey! Oh, you sleepy old dormouse! I am sure there is something dreadful going on. We are in danger."

"Lem dange. Here, tell the doctor. Don' wake uncle, nor me."

"Oh, dear, what shall I do!" said Mark, half aloud. "Oh, my head! My head! This must be--yes, I remember; I am in the waggon--here, Dean!

Dean!" And he began shaking his cousin again.

"Don't! Don't!" And there was the sound of the boy's bare feet kicking, and a s.n.a.t.c.h made as if to draw back the blankets that had been sent flying. "Oh, I will serve you out for--here, what do you want?"

"You to wake up. Can't you see how dark it is?"