me and pick
berries?"

"If it isn't over five miles away," Hazelton assented cautiously.

"Then what are we going to do!" asked Greg Holmes, turning to
Prescott.

"From the plans we've heard laid down," smiled Dick, "I think
we will have to stay right here and keep the prowler from dropping
in to carry away the rest of our provisions."

"Bother such sport as that!" snorted Greg.

"Humph! It may turn out to be the liveliest sport of all," declared
Dick dryly. "Certainly if that fellow turns up it will take two
of us to handle him with comfort. He's a tough customer."

"Dan, you always were an artist with a shovel," suggested Darry
insinuatingly. "Suppose you get out the spade and see what sort
of perch bait you can turn up in this neighborhood."

"Me?" drawled Dalzell protestingly. "Shucks! I'm no good at
finding bait. Never was."

"Get the spade and try," ordered Darry. "If you don't find some
bait we'll have to put off fishing until some other day."

That brought Dan to terms. He shouldered a spade, picked up an
empty vegetable can and started away, while Dave began to sort
tackle and to rig on hooks suitable for catching perch. Tom and
Harry started in to unpack supplies from a pair of six-quart pails
that they needed for the morning's work.

"Say, hear that, fellows!" demanded Tom, straightening up suddenly.

From the distance to the northward came a dull rumbling sound.

"Thunder?" suggested Danny Grin, glancing wonderingly up at the
clear sky.

"If there's a storm coming it will upset a day's berrying," Reade
announced.

"Fellows," Dick broke in, "it's a rumbling, yet it doesn't sound
just like thunder, either. It sounds more like-----"

"Cavalry on a gallop," suggested Greg.

"Just what it does sound a lot like," Prescott nodded. Then he
dropped to the ground, holding one ear close to the earth.

"And, whatever the rumble may be," Prescott went on, "it travels
along the ground. Just get your ears down, fellows."

"It's something big, and it's moving this way," cried Dave.

"It can't be cavalry," Tom argued. "There are no manoeuvres on;
there is no state camp ever held in this part of the state, either.
What do you-----"

But Dick Prescott was up on his feet by this time. Furthermore,
he was running. He stopped at the base of the trunk of the first
tall tree. Up he went with much of the speed of a squirrel.
Higher and higher he made his way among the branches.

"Say, be