After emerging from this first patch of swamp, the pair rested on a fallen log for a few moments, just off the trail. Holding their rifles at an alert they listened intently, looking for enemies with eyes and ears trained by the wild life of the border. They heard low sounds, and then a pattering of light feet on the ground. “Wild beasts!” murmured Tom. “Foxes,” guessed Bill, “an’ mebbe a timber wolf er two. But don’t mind ’em, Tom. They won’t bother us. Jest watch out fer the pesky Sacs.” “Look!” warned the boy, “there’s one now.” About thirty yards to the east, coming noiselessly over the rim of a low ridge, was a dim figure. Swiftly, but stealthily, the two whites dropped behind the shelter of the log. They lay absolutely flat upon the ground, and the keenest eyes, even at close range, could hardly have detected them, two slightly darker blurs on the dark earth. As the Indian shuffled by, the hidden scouts faintly saw the outline of his war-bonnet. The savage, however, saw nothing and passed on into the inky blackness of the swamp. After a moment, the whites got to their hands and knees and resumed their way, a slow, creeping advance up the gentle slope of the ridge. Such a mode of travel was not only snail-like, but extremely tiring. When they reached the crown, they stopped again, lying as before prone on the earth, not only for the sake of rest but to spy out the area once more with eye and ear. They looked closely down the ridge toward the dismal swamp. It and everything in it were buried in darkness. It was still as the grave. “Think that skin was a Sac, Bill?” whispered Tom. “Aye, lad, I could tell by his bonnet.” “Scouting the ranger camp, I reckon,” the boy observed. “Yep, Tom, an’ now we do have to be keerful. Sac spy behint us, an’ the hull tribe ahead.” “It won’t be any picnic, Bill.” Resolutely they turned about and again took up the trail to the eastward. They had gone only a few steps, however, when there was a sudden growl and a furry form, shooting out of the darkness, leaped like an arrow at Tom. But big Bill Brown, reaching straight out with his brawny arms, grasped the creature by the throat and squeezed it hard with his powerful hands. Another growl had arisen in the beast’s mouth, but it died behind his teeth, as the fierce grip gradually choked the life from its body. It gave a last convulsive kick; then lay inert. “A wolf!” exclaimed Tom excitedly. “You saved my hide that time, Bill.” “Naw, it ain’t a wolf,” the scout said, peering closely at the still form. “Well, what in thunder is it?” “An Injun cur.” “Hm!” mused Tom. “Suppose it was following that lone brave?” “Mos’ likely.” “Which would seem to indicate,” went on the boy, “that the Sac encampment may be considerably nearer than we thought.” “Good reasonin’, Tom. Prob’ly ain’t more’n a few mile. Let’s git on.”