on his right, and he had that stream and the prairie in his front at
his command. Mickey O'Rooney, being upon the extreme left, was
enabled to range his eye up the valley to the crest of the slope, so
that he was confident he could detect any insidious approach from that
direction. Down the valley, on the other side of the settlement, were
placed a couple of other sentinels, so that New Boston, on that
memorable night, was well guarded.

The position of Fred Munson, it will be understood, was apparently the
least important, as it was commanded by the other two, but the lad
felt as if the lives of the entire company were placed in his hands.

"Talk of my going to sleep," he repeated, as soon as he found himself
alone. "I can stand or sit here till daylight, and wink less times
than either Thompson or Mickey."

As every boy feels this way a short time before going to sleep, no one
who might have overheard Fred's boast would have been over-persuaded
thereby. Before him stretched the sloping valley of the Rio Pecos.
Glancing to the right, he could just catch the glimmer of the river as
it flowed by in the moonlight, the banks being low and not wooded,
while looking straight up the valley, his vision was bounded only by
darkness itself. Carefully running his eye over the ground, he was
confident that the slyest and most stealthy Indian that ever lived
could not approach within a hundred feet of him without detection.

"And the minute I'm certain its a red-skin, that minute I'll let him
have it," he added, instinctively grasping his rifle. "A boy need n't
be as old as I am to learn that it won't do to fool with such dogs as
they are."