The eager young lieutenant seized the weapon and began creeping through the brush in the direction of the caribou’s flight. Cody came behind, not much interested in the game, having his mind more fixed upon the overtaking of Boyd Bennett. The hunt promised to be a brief one, however. Fortunately the running buck had not diverted far from the straightaway course to the hiding-place of the treasure-box; otherwise Cody might have more strenuously objected. In a few minutes the two men came to a glade well dotted with trees, yet free for the most part of brush so that they could see some distance. “Wait! isn’t that him, Bill?” whispered the young lieutenant. “Your eyesight is good, Dick. Where?” asked the scout. “Yonder. Beyond that low brush-clump.” “Ah!” “That’s sure him, Bill. Yes, sir! he’s facing this way. You can see his black breast and fore legs. Down, Bill! don’t show yourself,” whispered Danforth eagerly. “Wait a moment. Better be sure, Dick,” muttered the scout, stooping and peering under the sharp of his hand toward the spot indicated. “Gad! he’ll get away. Let me plug him.” The light was so uncertain that, old and keen-eyed hunter that he was, Cody was not at all sure it was the caribou they saw. “Don’t make a mistake, Dick,” he murmured. “What mistake? The mistake of letting the critter git away?” cried the young man, exasperated. “Many a man has been shot from overeagerness in the chase,” said the scout warningly. “Why, that’s no man!” “A big buck standing head on in the brush like this one, looks just like a man in black clothes--don’t you see?” “It _does_ look like a man,” admitted Danforth. “I’ll remember that, Bill. But we know well enough that _this_ is a caribou.” “Do we?” “Of course! Confound you, Bill----” Suddenly a sharp whistle issued from the scout’s lips. Dick Danforth swore out loud and jerked his gun to his shoulder. But the scout grabbed his arm. “There’s your buck, Dick!” the older man exclaimed. In a flash the figure beyond the glade moved and came into better view for an instant. It was not a deer at all, but a man--a gigantic figure, dressed in some rough black garment, and he was in view of the two friends for but a few seconds. Then he darted behind a tree. “It’s a bear!” gasped Danforth. “I might have plugged him, anyway.” “Get out! That’s no bear. It’s a man.” “One of that gang?” whispered Danforth, suddenly more cautious. “I--don’t--know----” “Better have let me shot him, anyway,” grumbled the lieutenant. “You bloodthirsty young savage! Be still.” Suddenly the figure beyond the glade rushed from behind the tree and glided swiftly away through the timber. As he went he uttered a most eery scream, his voice floating back to them as he disappeared in the rapidly darkening forest. “Well! what do you think of that?” gasped Danforth. “Why, the man must be crazy!” exclaimed the scout. “That wasn’t Bennett or any of his crowd.” “Nor a redskin.”