the boys crouched
perfectly motionless in their hiding-place.

"What's that?" reached their ears, and they saw the sleeper feeling
about till his hand came in contact with the dry fern root.

"Why, it must have been that," he muttered aloud, and he turned it over
and over.

Josh uttered a faint sound as if he were about to burst out laughing.

"It must have come from above, somewhere. If it was those boys--" The
artist looked up suspiciously as he spoke, and then, with a start, he
turned himself over on his hands and knees, to begin gazing wonderingly
up at the cotton blossom hanging from the tree.

"Well," he said, "I never felt it; it must have been one of those gusts
which come down from the mountain."

Will pressed his hands tightly over Josh's mouth, for he could feel him
heaving and swaying about as if he were about to explode.

"Blows up this valley sometimes," continued the artist, "just like a
hurricane."

"Pouf!" went Josh, for Will's efforts were all in vain.

"Ah-h-ah! I knew it!" cried the artist, springing to his feet in a
rage. "You dogs! I see you!"

It was the truth the next moment, for Josh rushed off to get into
safety, closely followed by Will, whilst their victim gave chase.

Hunted creatures somehow in their hurry to escape pursuit, have a
natural inclination for taking the wrong route, the one which leads them
into danger when they are seeking to be safe.

It was so here. Josh led, and Will naturally followed; but his comrade
might have gone round by the mill, run for the stepping-stones, where he
could have crossed and made for the rough hiding-places known to him on
the other side of the stream; or he might have dodged for the
garden-gate, darted through, and made for the zig-zag path leading to
the open moorland; but instead of this, he dashed down to the waterside,
ran along by it, and then took the ascending path right up the glen,
getting more and more out of breath, and with Will panting heavily close
behind.

"Oh, you chucklehead!" cried the latter, huskily. "Why did you come
along here? You knew we couldn't go far."

"It's all right. He won't follow. He'll be tired directly; he's so
fat."

"I don't care," cried Will, stealing a look over his shoulder; "fat or
thin, he's coming along as hard as he can pelt."

"Yes, but he's about done."

"He isn't, I tell you; he's coming faster than you can go. Go along:
look sharp!"

The boys ran on, Josh getting more an