a mere trickle, picking its way around rocky
obstacles in a very jungle of thick underbrush.

Suddenly he stopped at a slight rustling sound very near him.

It was the familiar sound which he had so often heard away back in the
Adirondack woods, of some startled creature scurrying to shelter.

He was the scout again now, standing motionless and silent--keenly
waiting. Then, to his amazement, a clump of bushes almost at his feet
stirred slightly. He waited still, watching, his heart in his mouth.
Could it have been the breeze? But there was no breeze.

Startled, but discreetly motionless, he fixed his eyes upon the leafy
clump, still waiting. Presently it stirred again, very perceptibly now,
then moved, clumsily and uncannily, and with a slight rustling of its
leaves, along the bank of the stream!

CHAPTER NINE

THE MYSTERIOUS FUGITIVE

Suddenly the thing stopped, and its whole bulk was shaken very
noticeably. Then a head emerged from it and before Tom could realize
what had happened a German soldier was fully revealed, brushing the
leaves and dirt from his gray coat as he stole cautiously along the edge
of the stream, peering anxiously about him and pausing now and again to
listen.

He was already some distance from Tom, whom apparently he had not
discovered, and his stealthy movements suggested that he was either in
the act of escaping or was bent upon some secret business of importance.

Without a sound Tom slipped behind a tree and watched the man who paused
like a startled animal at every few steps, watching and listening.

Tom knew that, notwithstanding his non-combatant status, he was quite
justified in drawing his pistol upon this fleeing Boche, but before he
had realized this the figure had gone too far to afford him much hope of
success with the small weapon which he was not accustomed to. Moreover,
just because he _was_ a "non-com" he balked at using it. If he should
miss, he thought, the man might turn upon him and with a surer aim lay
him low.

But there was one thing in which Tom Slade felt himself to be the equal
of any German that lived, and that was stalking. Here, in the deep
woods, among these protecting trees, he felt at home, and the lure of
scouting was upon him now. No one could lose him; no one could get away
from him. And a bird in the air would make no more noise than he!

Swiftly, silently, he slipped from one tree to another, his keen eye
always fixed upon the fleeting f