As he spoke, he stooped down, and seizing the arm of the man, shook it quite hard several times, but without waking him.

“Begorrah, but he acts as if he had n’t a week of sleep since he had emigrated to the West.  I say, Thompson, me ould boy, can’t ye arouse up and bid us good night?”

While Mickey was speaking in this jocose manner, he had again seized the man, but this time by the shoulder.  At the first shake the head of the man fell forward, as if he were a wooden image knocked out of poise.

The singularity of the move struck Mickey, who abruptly ceased his jests, raised the drooping head, and stooped down and peered into it.  One quick, searching glance told the terrible truth.

"Be the howly powers, but he’s dead!" gasped the horrified Irishman, starting back, and then stooping still lower, and hurriedly examining him.

“What killed him?” asked the terrified Fred, gazing upon the limp figure.

“Lone Wolf, the haythen blackguard.  See here,” added Mickey, in a stern voice, as he wheeled about and faced his young friend, “you told me you had your gun pinted at that spalpeen; now it’s meself that wants to know why in blazes you did n’t pull the trigger?”

“He hadn’t hurt me, Mickey, and I did n’t know that he had been doing anything of this kind.  Would you have shot him, in my place?”

The Irishman shook his head.  It looked too cowardly to send a man, even though he were an Indian, out of the world without an instant’s warning.

“Well, Thompson is done for, that’s dead sure, and we’ll have to give him a dacent burial.  Whisht, there! did ye not hear somethin’?”

Footsteps were heard very distinctly upon the leaves, and the two shrank back in the shadow of the wood and awaited their approach, for they were evidently coming that way.  Something in the manner of walking betrayed their identity, and Mickey spoke.  The prompt answer showed that they were the two men whose duty it was to relieve Thompson and the Irishman.  They came forward at once, and when they learned the truth, were, as a matter of course, terribly shocked.  They reported that the sentinels nearer the settlement had detected moving figures during the night skulking about the wood and valley, and the sound of horses’ hoofs left no doubt that they were Indians who had gone.

The death of Thompson, of course, was a terrible shock to the new arrivals, but it was one of the incidents of border life, and was accepted as such.  The two took their stations unflinchingly, and Mickey and Fred returned to the settlement, the body of the dead sentry being allowed to lie where it was, under guard, until morning.

On the morrow the body was given decent burial, and the building of the houses was pressed with all possible activity, and scouts or sentinels were stationed on all the prominent lookouts.