Everyalternateweektheshiftswerechanged。ThesecondweekMcTeague’sshiftworkedinthedaytimeandsleptatnight。Wednesdaynightofthissecondweekthedentistwokesuddenly。Hesatupinhisbedinthebunkhouse，lookingabouthimfromsidetoside；analarmclockhangingonthewall，overalantern，markedhalf-pastthree。
“Whatwasit？“mutteredthedentist。“Iwonderwhatitwas。“Therestoftheshiftweresleepingsoundly，fillingtheroomwiththeraspingsoundofsnoring。Everythingwasinitsaccustomedplace；nothingstirred。ButforallthatMcTeaguegotupandlithisminer’scandlestickandwentcarefullyabouttheroom，throwingthelightintothedarkcorners，peeringunderallthebeds，includinghisown。
Thenhewenttothedoorandsteppedoutside。Thenightwaswarmandstill；themoon，verylow，andcantedonhersidelikeagalleonfoundering。Thecampwasveryquiet；nobodywasinsight。“Iwonderwhatitwas，“mutteredthedentist。
“Therewassomething——whydidIwakeup？Huh？“Hemadeacircuitaboutthebunkhouse，unusuallyalert，hissmalleyestwinklingrapidly，seeingeverything。Allwasquiet。Anolddogwhoinvariablysleptonthestepsofthebunkhousehadnotevenwakened。McTeaguewentbacktobed，butdidnotsleep。
“TherewasSOMETHING，“hemuttered，lookinginapuzzledwayathiscanaryinthecagethathungfromthewallathisbedside；“something。Whatwasit？ThereissomethingNOW。Thereitisagain——thesamething。“Hesatupinbedwitheyesandearsstrained。“Whatisit？Idon’knowwhatitis。Idon’hearanything，an’Idon’seeanything。I