considerable river, one that would require swimming unless he
found a ford somewhere near. He was very weary from the journey through
the marsh and, sitting on a log, he scraped from his clothes a portion
of the mud they had accumulated on the way.

He was a good swimmer, but he had his arms and ammunition to keep dry,
and he did not wish to trust himself afloat on the deep current. Wading
would be far better, and, when his strength was restored, he walked up
the bank in search of a shallower place.

He came soon to a point, where the cliff was rather high, although it
was clothed in dense forest here as elsewhere, and when he reached the
crest he heard a sound like the swishing of waters. Alert and suspicious
he sank down among the trees and peered over the bank. Two men in a
canoe were paddling in a leisurely manner along the stream.

The men were in faded and worn Confederate uniforms, and Dick saw
their rifles lying in the bottom of the boat. He also saw that they
had strong, resolute faces. They were almost opposite him and they were
closely scanning the forest on his side of the river. He was glad that
he had not tried to swim the stream, and he was glad too that he had
kept so well under cover. The men in the canoe were surely keen of eye,
and they must be a patrol.

He sank closer to the earth and did not stir. One of the watchers drew
in his paddle and took up his rifle, while the other propelled the canoe
very slowly. It seemed that they expected something or somebody, and it
suddenly occurred to him that it might be he. He felt a little shiver of
apprehension. How could they know he was coming? It was mysterious and
alarming.

He waited for them to pass down the river and out of sight, but at the
curve they turned and came back against the stream, the man with the
rifle in his hand still keenly watching the western shore, where Dick
lay hidden. Neither of them spoke, and the only sound was the swishing
of the paddle. The hoot of an owl came from the depths of the forest
behind him and he knew that it was a signal. The hair of his head
lifted.

He felt the touch of the supernatural. The invisible pursuer was behind
him again, and the silent soldiers held the crossing. The hoot of the
owl came again, a little nearer now. He was tempted to rise and run, but
his will held him back from such folly. His unknown enemy could pursue,
because his boots left a deep trail in the soft earth. That was why he
had bee