He could hear some lurking rabbit slinking through the hazel bushes
over at one side. Somewhere off on the level, where the sage grew so
heavily, there must have been a prairie dog village; for the sound of
the peculiar barking of these queer little animals frequently floated
to his ears as the breeze changed.
The two horses were still feeding at the time Frank dropped off into a
sound and refreshing sleep, but doubtless they would soon lie down.
Bob was already breathing heavily, which would indicate that he had
passed beyond the open door to slumber-land.
The minutes passed, and several hours must have gone.
Frank was dreaming of the excitement attending some of the many dashing
gallops he had lately enjoyed in company with his chum, looking up
stray cattle, helping to brand mavericks, watching the cowmen mill
stampeding herds, or chasing fleet-footed antelopes just to give the
horses a run.
He was suddenly aroused by a strange sound that seemed to cause the
very earth under him to tremble. The trample of a thousand hoofs would
make such a noise; if one of those old-time mighty herds of bison could
have come back to earth again; or a stampede of an immense herd of
long-horns might cause a similar vibration.
But Frank Haywood knew that neither of these explanations could be the
true one, even as he thus sat upright on his blanket to listen. The
ominous, growling, grumbling noise was more in the nature of
approaching thunder, just as though one of those furious summer storms,
tropical in their nature, and often encountered in this country where
plains and mountains sharply meet, had crept upon them as they calmly
slept.
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