The flap was laid back for the sake of ventilation,
and with her kimono hunched about her shoulders, she crouched in
the doorway and looked out across the open space before the grove
in which the camp was pitched. It was just between dark and dawn
when strange figures seem to move in the dimness of out-of-doors.
Yet Nan knew there really was nothing stirring there on the plain.
The herd was much farther away.
The sound that had disturbed her came to her ears again, a high,
thin, crackling whistle--a most uncanny noise.
"What can it be?" murmured Nan aloud.
"Nan!" whispered a voice beyond her.
"Goodness! Is that you, Walter Mason?" she demanded, huddling her
robe closer about her.
"Yes. Come on out. Do you hear that funny noise?"
"Yes. What is it? I can't come out. I'm not dressed."
"Well, get dressed," he said, chuckling. "I want to know what
that--There! Hear it again?"
The high whistling sound rose once more. It seemed to be coming
nearer, and was from the north, the direction of the hills.
"Isn't it funny?" gasped Nan. "Shall I ask Rhoda?"
"Come on out and we'll ask one of the men if he knows what it is.
That horse wrangler is up. I just saw him going toward the pony
corral."
"Hesitation Kane? Well, we'll never learn if we ask him," giggled
Nan. "Wait, Walter. I'll come right out."
She went softly back to her cot and sat down on it to draw on her
stockings.
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