midnight
But Wren was nearly wild from wounds and fever when the third day came and no sign of the troop . Another man had been hit and stung , and though not seriously wounded , like a burnt child , he now shunned the fire and became , perforce , an ineffective . Their scanty store of rations was gone entirely . Sergeant Carmody and his alternate watchers were worn out from lack of sleep when , in the darkness of midnight , a low hail in their own tongue came softly through the dead silence , -- the voice of Lieutenant Blakely cautioning , `` Do n't fire , Wren . It 's the Bugologist , '' and in another moment he and his orderly afoot , in worn Apache moccasins , but equipped with crammed haversacks and ammunition belts , were being welcomed by the besieged . There was little of the emotional and nothing of the melodramatic about it . It was , if anything , rather commonplace .