They spoke little; they were too tired for that, also they were too
comfortable. Their respective suppers of fresh antelope steak, shot
that day, had just been disposed of. Their feet were directed towards
the small fire on which the said steaks had been cooked, and which
still threw a warm, ruddy glow over the encampment. Their blankets
were wrapped comfortably round them, and tucked in as only hunters and
mothers know _how_ to tuck them in. Their respective pipes delivered
forth, at stated intervals, three richly yellow puffs of smoke, as if
a three-gun battery were playing upon the sky from that particular
spot of earth. The horses were picketed and hobbled in a rich grassy
bottom close by, from which the quiet munch of their equine jaws
sounded pleasantly, for it told of healthy appetites, and promised
speed on the morrow. The fear of being overtaken during the night was
now past, and the faithful Crusoe, by virtue of sight, hearing, and
smell, guaranteed them against sudden attack during the hours of
slumber.
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