The Boy Scouts Under Fire in Mexico by John Henry Goldfrap

Author:John Henry Goldfrap
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781776599110
Publisher: The Floating Press

Chapter XV - Andy Scatters the Serenaders

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The first thing that Rob noticed was that it did not seem nearly as dark and gloomy as when he had lain down. Could it be he had slept the whole night through, and that daylight was at hand? He settled this mystery with his first glance upward; for there he discovered that a pale fragment of a once proud moon had arisen in the east, and was looking mournfully down upon their hidden camp.

Next he made out the form of Lopez, the Mexican guide, who was sitting with his back against a tree, as though that might be his favorite way of sleeping. But he was very much awake now, for he moved even as Rob took notice of his presence.

The queer chorus of sounds continued to arise from various points near by. Rob made up his mind that they must be actually surrounded by some species of animal that certainly sang away off the proper key, for they made a noise that jarred on his ear terribly.

"Hear 'em, don't you, Rob?" continued Andy, who doubtless must have been observing the movements of the acting scout master all this while by the aid of that friendly moonlight.

"Do I? Well, I'd have to be pretty deaf not to, Andy," Rob replied.

"What do you reckon it can be? I never in all my life heard such an awful lot of discord," continued the other scout apprehensively.

"I'm only giving a wide guess," Rob told him; "but I should think only a pack of wolves could make a racket like that; or perhaps now, coyotes."

"How about that, Lopez?" Merritt struck in; and the guide, chuckling, replied:

"Last is what it is, young señors; kiote make much noise when hungry. It is our food they scent. Kiote happen to have a very keen nose. No trouble, no danger as long as they hang around. Too much coward to sneak in; and long as we hear kiote sing, we know no spy can be near, or they run away."

"Sing!" burst out Andy with a snort; "is that what they call it down here? Mebbe some folks like that sort of song, but let me tell you it grates on my ears like the screeching of a pack of cats at night. Sing! Whoo-ee! are you joshing us poor tenderfeet, Lopez?"

"Oh! there's nothing like getting used to things, Andy," Rob assured him, while at the same time he was in doubt whether he himself could go to sleep again if all that noise kept up right along. "After a while, when you've heard that chant nightly, you may think it's the finest lullaby ever invented, and miss it the worst kind after you hike away north."

"Don't you believe it, Rob," returned the other positively. "I wouldn't mind being soothed to sleep by sweet sounds, like the thrumming of a guitar or a mandolin; but excuse me from that caterwauling. Listen to it rise and fall! That is just the way our

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