en Cyrus
became fidgety and anxious.

"I hope the fellow hasn't come to grief somewhere in the woods," he
said, while a shiver of apprehension shot down his back. "But Herb has
had so many hairbreadth escapes that I believe the animal has yet to be
born which could get the better of him. And he can find his way anywhere
without a compass. Every handful of moss on a trunk or stone, every
turn of a woodland stream, every sun-ray which strikes him through the
trees, every glimpse of the stars at night, has a meaning for him. He
reads the forest like a book. No fear of his getting lost anyhow. Come,
boys, I guess we'd better build up our fire, make things snug for the
night, and turn in."

Rather dejectedly the trio set about these preparations. In twenty
minutes' time they were stretched side by side in the wide bunk, with
their blankets cuddled round them, already venting random snores.

"Hello! So you've got here at last, have you?"

The exclamations were loud and snappy, and awoke the sleeping campers
like the banging of rifle-shots. With jumping pulses they sprang up,
feeling a wave of cold air sweep their faces; for the cabin-door, which
they had closed ere lying down, was now ajar.

The camp was almost in darkness. Only one dull, red ray stole out from
the fire, on which fresh logs had been piled. But while the young
Farrars rubbed their sleep-dimmed eyes, and slowly realized that the
woodsman whom they had been expecting had at last arrived, a strangely
brilliant illumination lit up the log walls.

This sudden and bewildering light showed them the figure of a hunter in
mud-spattered gray trousers, with coarse woollen stockings of lighter
hue drawn over them above his buckskin moccasins. His battered felt hat
was pushed back from his forehead, a guide's leathern wallet was slung
round him, and the rough, clinging jersey he wore, being stretched so
tightly over his swelling muscles that its yarn could not hold together,
had a rent on one shoulder.

His slate-gray eyes with jetty pupils, which were miniatures of
Millinokett Lake at this hour, gazed at the awakened trio in the bunk,
with a gleam of light shooting athwart them, like a moonbeam crossing
the face of the lake.

The hunter held in his hand a big roll of the inflammable paper-like
bark of the white birch-tree, which he had brought in with him to kindle
his fire, expecting that it had gone out during his absence. Seeing a
glow still on the hearth, an