ga and Willet slept well. Neither had stirred, and wrapped in their
blankets lying on the soft leaves, they were true pictures of forest
comfort. They were fine and loyal comrades, as good as anybody ever had,
and he was glad they were so near, because he began to have a feeling
now that something unusual was going to occur. The shadows on the lake
troubled him again, and he went back for another look. He did not see
them now, and that, too, troubled him. It proved that they had been made
by some moving object, and not by the boughs and bushes still there.

Robert examined the lake, his eyes following the line where the far bank
met the water, but he saw no trace of anything moving, and his attention
came back to the woods in which he stood. Presently, he crouched in
dense bush, and concentrated all his powers of hearing, knowing that he
must rely upon ear rather than eye. He could not say that he had really
seen or heard, but he had felt that something was moving in the forest,
something that threatened him.

His first impulse was to go back to the little hollow and awaken his
comrades, but his second told him to stay where he was until the danger
came or should pass, and he crouched lower in the undergrowth with his
hand on the hammer and trigger of his rifle. He did not stir or make any
noise for a long time. The forest, too, was silent. The wind that had
ruffled the surface of the lake ceased, and the leaves over his head
were still.

But he understood too well the ways of the wilderness to move yet. He
did not believe that his faculties, attuned to the slightest alarm, had
deceived him, and he had learned the patience of the Indian from the
Iroquois themselves. His eyes continually pierced the thickets for a
hostile object moving there, and his ears were ready to notice the sound
of a leaf should it fall.

He heard, or thought he heard after a while, a slight sliding motion,
like that which a great serpent would make as it drew its glistening
coils through leaves or grass. But it was impossible for him to tell how
near it was to him or from what point it came, and his blood became
chill in his veins. He was not afraid of a danger seen, but when it came
intangible and invisible the boldest might shudder.

The noise, real or imaginary, ceased, and as he waited he became
convinced that it was only his strained fancy. A man might mistake the
blood pounding in his ears or the beat of his own pulse for a sound
witho