t, and I had not ridden far when the
old fear of night, the fancy of things out there in the darkness, once
more possessed me. It made me angry. Why could I not have the same
confidence that I had in the daytime? It was impossible. The forest was
full of moving shadows. When the wind came up to roar in the pine-tips
it was a relief because it broke the silence.

I began to doubt whether I could be sure of locating the spring, and I
finally decided to make camp at once. I stopped Hal, and had swung my
leg over the pommel when I saw a faint glimmer of light far ahead. It
twinkled like a star, but was not white and cold enough for a star.

"That's Dick's campfire," I said. "I'll have to stop here. Maybe I'm too
close now."

I pondered the question. The blaze was a long way off, and I concluded
I could risk camping on the spot, provided I did not make a fire.
Accordingly I dismounted, and was searching for a suitable place when
I happened to think that the campfire might not be Dick's, after all.
Perhaps Buell had sent the Mexican with Bud and Bill on my trail again.
This would not do. But I did not want to go back or turn off the trail.

"I'll slip up and see who it is," I decided.

The idea pleased me; however, I did not yield to it without further
consideration. I had a clear sense of responsibility. I knew that from
now on I should be called upon to reason out many perplexing things. I
did not want to make any mistakes. So I tied Hal and the pack-pony to a
bush fringing the trail, and set off through the forest.

It dawned upon me presently that the campfire was much farther away than
it appeared. Often it went out of sight behind trees. By degrees it grew
larger and larger. Then I slowed down and approached more cautiously.
Once when the trees obscured it I traveled some distance without getting
a good view of it. Passing down into a little hollow I lost it again.
When I climbed out I hauled up short with a sharp catch of my breath.
There were several figures moving around the campfire. I had stumbled on
a camp that surely was not Dick Leslie's.

The ground was as soft as velvet, and my footsteps gave forth no sound.
When the wind lulled I paused behind a tree and waited for another gusty
roar. I kept very close to the trail, for that was the only means by
which I could return to my horses. I felt the skin tighten on my face.
Suddenly, as I paused, I beard angry voices, pitched high. But I could
not make out the