His long, regular
breathing and the expression of his face, as peaceful as that of a little
child, indicated It.
The night grew chillier. The great stars remained pale and cold, and the
forest continued to whine, as that strange, wandering breeze slipped
through the leaves. Francisco Alvarez of the sunny plains wished that it
would stop. It got upon his nerves, and the feeling it gave him was
singularly like that of an evil conscience. He saw his men fall to sleep
one by one, and he heard their heavy breathing. Braxton Wyatt also wrapped
himself in his blanket and soon slumbered. The fire sank, the coals
crumbled, and with soft little hisses, fell together. The circling rim of
darkness crept up closer and closer, and the trunks of the trees became
ghostly in the shadows.
Alvarez saw his sentinels at either side of the camp, to right and left,
walking back and forth, and he knew also that they would watch well. Time
passed. The night darkened and then a wan moon came out, casting a
ghostly, gray shadow over the measureless black forest. The great stars,
pale and cold, danced in a dusky blue. Faint moans came out of the depths
of the wilderness, as a stray wind wandered here and there among the
leaves. Francisco Alvarez, resolute and self contained though he was,
could not sleep.
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