mer, quietly, "and advance
slowly. Everyone be ready to give a good account of himself if they rush
any dogs on us. Forward now!"

And silently the sixteen scouts, spread out somewhat like an open fan,
started to advance upon the strange dense thicket in which Landy had
seen a shack.

CHAPTER VIII.

READING THE SIGNS.

"Halt!"

At the command the scouts came to a stop. They had been gradually
concentrating as they pushed forward, so that when this halt was made
they formed half a circle, and each fellow was almost touching elbows
with the next in line.

Just before them, even though pretty well concealed by the foliage of
the bushes, they could make out what appeared to be a rough shack.

No other name would apply, for it was clumsily built out of odds and
ends of boards, secured at the mill, no doubt, together with sods, a
heap of stones, some mud that had hardened until it resembled mortar;
and, finally, a roof thatched with straw, much after the style the boys
had seen in pictures of foreign cottages in Switzerland, France, and
Italy.

"Say," observed Red, who found it unusually hard to keep from expressing
his views, "I don't believe there are any kiyi dogs around here,
fellows."

"Don't seem like it," remarked another, doubtless breathing a sigh of
relief at the improved prospect.

"Sure we'd have heard them give tongue," observed Toby, advancing boldly
to look in through the opening at the side of the shack, and which
doubtless served the purpose of a window.

"Careful, Toby; go slow," called out Elmer; for there could be no
telling what sort of a storm the appearance of the boys in khaki might
raise within the shanty.

An intense silence followed. Every fellow could feel his heart pounding
against his ribs like a trip hammer, and he wondered whether the sound
were loud enough to betray his nervous frame of mind to his companions,
never dreaming that they were all in the same box.

A red squirrel in a tree overhead, that had been observing all these
doings with round-eyed wonder, began to chatter and scold. A little
striped chipmunk sat up on a neighboring stump and took note.

"Nobody home, fellers," called out Toby, after he had apparently stared
in through that opening for more than a full minute.

Some of the scouts looked relieved; others frowned as if disgusted. This
sort of thing might be all very well, but it did not seem to be taking
them any closer to the rescue of their comr