rds the point where he had quitted the trail. In
reality, seeing nothing to aim for in this bewildering maze of endless
trees, turned out of his way continually as he dodged in and out around
massive trunks, he gradually worked farther and farther off the course
by which he had come, drifting in random directions like a rudderless
ship on mid-ocean. This helpless state is called, in the phraseology of
the northern woods, being "turned round."

But Dol Farrar was spared for the present a thorough realization of the
dreadful mishap which had befallen him. He had a shocked, breathless,
flurried feeling, as if scales had suddenly fallen from his eyes, and he
saw the dangers of the unknown as he had not before seen them. But even
in the midst of abusing himself for his rash self-confidence, he uttered
a cheerful "Hurrah!"

"Why, good gracious!" he cried. "Here's another trail! Now, where on
earth does this lead to? I don't see any spotted trees"--looking
carefully about--"but it's a well-beaten track, a regular plain path,
where people have been walking. It must lead to our camp. I'll follow it
up, anyhow. That will be better than dodging around here until I get
'wheels in my head,' as Uncle Eb says he did once when he lost his way
in the woods, and kept wandering round and round in a circle."

Puffing with excitement and revived hope, the boy started off on this
new trail, which he blessed at first--oh, how he blessed it!--as if it
had been a golden clew to lead him out of his difficulty. To be sure, it
was not a blazed trail; there were no notches in the trees, but the
ground showed distinct signs of being frequently and recently travelled
over. Though footprints were not traceable, moss, earth, and in some
places the forest undergrowth of dwarfed bushes, were thoroughly pressed
and trodden.

Dol never doubted but that it was a human trail, a track continually
used by some woodsman; but he thought that the unknown traveller,
whoever he was, must have agile legs and a taste for athletics, for many
times he had to hoist himself, his gun, and the ducks over some big
windfall which lay right across the way. The dead quackers he pitched
before him, fearing that by the time he got back to camp--if ever he
did?--their flesh would be too bruised to look like respectable meat;
for he was obliged to have one hand free to help him in scrambling over
each fallen tree.

Once or twice this strange trail led him through thickets whe