se, but a powerful hand on his shoulder pushed him
back, though gently, and a low voice said:

"Stay still, Mr. Mason. We mustn't make any sound now!"

Dick recognized in dim wonder the voice of Sergeant Daniel Whitley. How
he had come there at such a time, and what he was doing now was past all
guessing, but Sergeant Whitley was a most competent man. He knew more
than most generals, and he was filled with the lore of the woods. He
would trust him. He let his head sink back on the folded blanket, and
his heavy eyes closed again.

When Dick roused from his stupor the sergeant was still by his side,
and, as his eyes grew used to the darkness, he noticed that Whitley was
really kneeling rather than sitting, crouched to meet danger, his finger
on the trigger of a rifle. Dick's brain cleared and he sat up.

"What is it, Sergeant?" he whispered.

"I see you're all right now, Mr. Mason," the sergeant whispered back,
"but be sure you don't stir."

"Is it the Johnnies?"

"Lean over a little and look down into that dip."

Dick did so, and saw four men hunting among the trees, and the one
who seemed to be their leader was the little weazened fellow, with the
great, flap-brimmed hat.

"They're looking for your trail," whispered the sergeant, "but they
won't find it. It's too dark, even for a Sioux Indian, and I've seen
them do some wonderful things in trailing."

"I seem to have met you in time, Sergeant."

"So you did, sir, but more of that later. Perhaps you'd better lie down
again, as you're weak yet. I'll tell you all they do."

"I'll take your advice, Sergeant, but am I sound and whole? I felt
something in me break, and then the earth rose up and hit me in the
face."

"I reckon it was just the last ounce of breath going out of you with a
pop. They're hunting hard, Mr. Mason, but they can't pick up the trace
of a footstep. Slade must be mad clean through."

"Slade! Slade! Who's Slade?"

"Slade is a spy partly, and an outlaw mostly, 'cause he often works on
his own hook. He's the weazened little fellow with so much hat-brim, and
he's about twenty different kinds of a demon. You've plenty of reason to
fear him, and it's lucky we've met."

"It's more than luck for me, Sergeant. It's salvation. I believe it
wouldn't have been half as hard on me if somebody had been with me, and
you're the first whom I would have chosen. Are they still in the dip,
Sergeant?"

"No, they've passed to the slope on the right, and I