The darkness and silence grew nerve-racking. The only sounds were the chirping of insects and an occasional distant screech of a hunting hawk.
Tom warmed up the battery-powered radio set and tried to contact the Sky Queen. But his calls brought no response.
MAGNETIC HOMING PIGEON 99
“Arv and Slim might be in town looking for Hank,” Tom muttered as he gave up. “Or else they’ve gone to bed.”
An hour went by, then another, with still no signs of an attack.
“Mebbe them owlhoots are waitin’ for us to hit the hay,” Chow surmised.
“Just what I’m thinking,” said Bud. “Better keep awake.”
The night was turning more and more chilly. The three friends sat huddled in sleeping bags as they watched and waited. A rising moon etched the cliffs sharply against the night sky, but no further signal flares appeared.
Tom poked up the fire and tossed on some more wood. Presently the trio caught themselves dozing off. By this time their confidence had returned somewhat, so Tom suggested that they take turns standing watch. “I’ll start. You two sleep.”
“Okay by me,” Bud said wearily. Chow agreed.
The night passed slowly, with no further incident. In the fresh pearly light of dawn, they washed at the riverside, then ate breakfast. Cheerfulness returned with the rising sun, and all three felt somewhat foolish about their fears of the night before. The lookouts seemed to have vanished from the cliffs-at least none could be detected through binoculars.
“It’s a cinch someone’s interested in our movements, though,” Tom reflected soberly.
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