l, I don't like it!"

"No more do I," said Shif'less Sol. "'Tain't like Jim not to come back,
ef he could. Mebbe he'll drop in afore day, anyhow."

They returned to the camp, and two inquiring figures rose up out of the
darkness.

"You ain't seen him?" said Tom, noting that but two figures had
returned.

"Not a trace," replied Henry. "It's a singular thing."

The four talked together a little while, and they were far from
cheerful. Then three sought sleep, while Henry stayed on watch, sitting
with his back against a tree and his rifle on his knees. All the peace
and content that he had felt earlier in the evening were gone. He was
oppressed by a sense of danger, mysterious and powerful. It did not seem
possible that Long Jim could have gone away in such a noiseless manner,
leaving no trace behind. But it was true.

He watched with both ear and eye as much for Long Jim as for an enemy.
He was still hopeful that he would see the long, thin figure coming
among the bushes, and then hear the old pleasant drawl. But he did not
see the figure, nor did he hear the drawl.

Time passed with the usual slow step when one watches. Paul, Sol, and
Tom were asleep, but Henry was never wider awake in his life. He tried
to put away the feeling of mystery and danger. He assured himself that
Long Jim would soon come, delayed by some trail that he had sought to
solve. Nothing could have happened to a man so brave and skillful. His
nerves must be growing weak when he allowed himself to be troubled so
much by a delayed return.

But the new hours came, one by one, and Long Jim came with none of them.
The night remained fairly light, with a good moon, but the light that it
threw over the forest was gray and uncanny. Henry's feeling of mystery
and danger deepened. Once he thought he heard a rustling in the thicket
and, finger on the trigger of his rifle, he stole among the bushes to
discover what caused it. He found nothing and, returning to his lonely
watch, saw that Paul, Sol, and Tom were still sleeping soundly. But
Henry was annoyed greatly by the noise, and yet more by his failure to
trace its origin. After an hour's watching he looked a second time. The
result was once more in vain, and he resumed his seat upon the leaves,
with his back reclining against an oak. Here, despite the fact that the
night was growing darker, nothing within range of a rifle shot could
escape his eyes.

Nothing stirred. The noise did not come a second t