ent or be lost forever that
upset him so. Then curiously enough the motto of the Boy Scouts flashed
into his head--"Be prepared." It was like a tonic to his shaking nerves.
Was not a Scout supposed to be prepared for all emergencies, and what
was this but a form of emergency?

He stopped shaking. He lifted his rifle ever so little and found that it
remained steady and motionless in his hands. "It ain't no fox. It's just
a rabbit and youse can't miss it," he whispered over and over to
himself, and experienced an odd sense of confidence. He was himself once
more, the Sparrer of the streets, able to take care of himself and keep
his head in any emergency; the Sparrer of the Blue Tortoise Patrol,
noting the number of the fleeing machine at the time of the accident.

Meanwhile the fox was leisurely crossing the dam, stopping now and then
to sniff at the snow or to test the wind. Fortunately what little there
was of the latter was blowing toward the hidden watcher, a fact which
Sparrer did not appreciate at the time. Had the wind been the other way
the fox would have caught the hated man smell and vanished like a
shadow. As it was his every move denoted complete lack of suspicion so
far as a fox ever does lack this characteristic trait.

Sparrer was at complete loss as to what he should do. The temptation to
crawl forward so as to get within easy range of the end of the dam was
almost irresistible, but he realized that the first move on his part
would be likely to attract the keen eyes of his quarry, and arouse his
suspicions. Had the fringe of brush through which he was watching been
leaved out it might have been possible to successfully make this move,
but as it was his dark body against the white background could hardly
fail of detection despite the screen of brush. He knew enough of animals
to know that so long as he was motionless he would appear to be no more
than a part of the log on which he sat, and wisely concluded to sit
tight and await developments.

If the fox continued clear across the dam there was one point at which
he would afford a clear shot through a little opening in the brush. It
would be at long range, but the 22 was high powered, and if he could
judge the distance aright and hold true there was a chance that he
might kill. So far as he could see this appeared to be his only chance,
and he prepared to take advantage of it. Inch by inch he wormed himself
around on the log so as to face this opening. T