w muttered protests, Emma subsided, and only the faint yelps
of the dreaming bull pup and the noisy slumber of Hippy Wingate
disturbed the deeply impressive silence of the great forest. That he
might better guard the camp, Hindenburg had been tied out to a tree on
his long leash. Lieutenant Wingate had built a miniature lean-to for the
pup to crawl under in the event of rain, but Hindenburg was already
under it, stretched out on the yielding browse bed, one little brown ear
vigilantly erect to catch the slightest sound. Emma Dean declared that
the dog must be deaf in that ear, for he never seemed to hear with it.

The bull pup's slumbers were not disturbed that night, nor were Henry's.
The bear lay at the rear of Mrs. Shafto's lean-to all night long, curled
up into a furry ball, but with the break of day he was off in the forest
for the choice morsels of food that he knew were there for him to pluck.

After the campers awakened, the forest woman's shrill call soon brought
the bear ambling back to camp, but they observed that he was restless,
now and then lifting his nose and sniffing the air, punctuated with an
occasional throaty growl, but the bull pup, flat on his back, feet in
the air, was sound asleep on his browse bed.

"Henry, what's the matter with ye? I reckon maybe ye smell some varmint
that's hangin' 'round waitin' fer the leavin's of the breakfast,"
scolded Joe.

The bacon was on the fire and the aroma of coffee in the air when a
loud hail warned the Overland Riders that they were about to receive an
early morning call.

Lieutenant Wingate answered the hail. A few moments later they descried
a horseman riding through the forest towards the camp.

The newcomer was dressed in khaki, wearing an army hat and high lace
boots. Grace recognized the uniform at once, having seen it before when
foresting with Tom Gray. Her identification was confirmed when she
caught sight of the bronze badge of the Forest Service, which the
stalwart rider wore on his left breast. His face was rugged and
weatherbeaten, and the strength of the wilderness was in his eye, though
the man's facial expression, at that moment, was far from pleasant.

The forest ranger, or fire warden, halted and surveyed the camp with a
slow, searching gaze, narrowly observing the crackling campfire, then
suddenly bent a stern look on each member of the Overland party.

"Morning, Buddy. You are just in time to sit in with us for a snack of
breakfast,"