about eleven
o'clock
There was a small shade lamp burning on the camp table by the side of the iron cot , on which Arthur had thrown himself , being somewhat tired of his ramble in the jungle . He had taken up a volume of the Pindaree war , but had not perused more than a dozen pages when he felt drowsy and sleepy . He had accustomed himself to sleep with his revolver under his pillow , his right hand grasping the handle . Somewhere about eleven o'clock he was lying on his back with his left arm thrown across his chest , and his hand over his face , half asleep and half awake , he fancied he heard a sound similar to that made by sand rats or rabbits while burrowing . The sinister look of the Bheel he had paid in the evening instantly flashed across his mind . Separating his fingers , sufficiently to admit of his seeing through them , he glanced in the direction from which the sound proceeded , and waited patiently , keeping a firm grasp of his pistol . Presently the sand beneath the wall of the tent near the foot of his cot gave way gradually , and a small aperture presented itself , which increased by degrees .