The boy undressed and got into bed, placing his saddle bags on the
foot of it, and the pistol that he carried in his belt under his head.
He fell asleep almost immediately and had he been asked beforehand
he would have said that nothing could awake him before morning.
Nevertheless he awoke before midnight, and it was a very slight thing
that caused him to come out of sleep. Despite the languor produced by
food and heat a certain nervous apprehension had been at work in the
boy's mind, and it followed him into the unknown regions of sleep.
His body was dead for a time and his mind too, but this nervous power
worked on, almost independently of him. It had noted the sound of
voices nearby, and awakened him, as if he had been shaken by a rough
hand.
He sat up in his bed and became conscious of a hot and aching head.
Then he remembered the window, and softly drawing two pegs that fastened
it in order that he might not awaken his good hosts, he opened it inward
a few inches.
The cold air poured in at the crevice and felt like heaven on his face.
His temples quit throbbing and his head ceased to ache. He had not
noticed at first the cause that really awakened him, but as he settled
back into bed, grateful for the fresh air, the same mysterious power
gave him a second warning signal.
He heard the hum of voices and sat up again. It was merely the
Leffingwells in the bed at the far end of the room, talking! Perhaps he
had not been asleep more than an hour, and it was natural that they
should lie awake a while, talking about the coming of this young
stranger or any other event of the day that interested them.
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