Those were mighty moments for the young scoutmaster and members of the Owl Patrol when they "lay low," crouching breathlessly in some thicket, with Toiney, prostrate on his face and hands, a little in advance of them, his black eyes intent upon a fox-path, a mere shadow-track such as four of their number had seen on that first memorable day in the woods, where only the lightly trampled weeds or an occasional depression in some little bush told their assistant scoutmaster, whom nothing escaped, that some airy-footed animal was in the habit of passing there from burrow to hunting-ground. The waiting was sometimes long and the enforced silence irksome to youthful scouts; there were times when it oppressed one or other of the boys like a steel cage against the bars of which his voice, like a rebellious bird, dashed itself in some irrepressible sound, a pinched-off cry or smothered whistle. But that always drew a backward hiss of "Mak' you s-silent! W'at for you spik lak dat?" from the advance scout, Toiney, or a clipped, sarcastic "_T'as pas besoin_ to shoutee--engh?" And the needless semi-shout was repressed next time by the reprimanded one, many a lesson in self-control being learned thereby. [Illustration: "MAK' YOU S-SILENT! W'AT FOR YOU SPIK LAK DAT?"] More than once patience was at last rewarded by a glimpse of the trotting traveler, the sly red fox, maker of that shadow-path: of its sandy coat, white throat, large black ears, and the bushy, reddish tail, with milk-white tip, the "flag" as woodsmen call it. Instinctively on such occasions Leon at first yearned for his gun, his old "fuzzee," with which he had worked havoc--often purposeless and excessive--among shore birds, and from which he had to part when he enlisted in the Boy Scouts of America, and adopted principles tending toward the conservation of all wild life rather than to destruction. Gradually, however, Starrie Chase, like his brother scouts, came under the glamour of this peaceful trailing. He began to discover a subtler excitement, more spicy fun--the spicier for Toiney's presence--in the brief contemplation of that dog-fox at home, trotting along, unmolested, to his hunting-ground, than in past fevered glimpses of him when all interest in his wiles and habits was merged into greed for his skin and tail. Many were the opportunities, too, for a glimpse at the white flag of the shy deer as it bounded off into some deeper woodland glade, and for being thrilled by the swift drumming of the partridge's wings when it rose from its dusting-place on the ground or on some old log whose brown, flaky wood could be reduced to powder; or from feasting on the brilliant and lowly partridge-berries which, nestling amid their evergreen leaves, challenged November's sereness. Each woodland hike brought its own revelation--its special discovery--insignificant, perhaps--but which thereafter stood out as a beauty spot upon the face of the day.