Ollie ran forward swiftly but silently for a distance of several yards, and then dropped to the ground also, replacing his revolver in its holster so that he might the better hurry along on hands and knees in quest of the fleeing enemy. Once or twice he stopped for the double purpose of raising himself to make sure he was keeping in the trail of the man ahead, and to listen for indications of the approach of Tom or Harper. But while, thus far, he was keeping to the right path and making good progress, there was no sign of the presence, or even proximity, of his two pals. Already he was approaching the spot where they first had discovered the fellow at work, and where Tom and Harper should now be closing in. But Ollie realized what handicaps they had to overcome, and also how easy it would be for either to mistake the distance to be covered before they swung inward toward their objective. Either or both might now be considerably off their given course, and without present knowledge of their exact whereabouts. Meanwhile the man they sought was steadily pushing forward and away from them, into the blackness of the night. Much as he would have liked to wait for his two friends, Ollie decided that if the enemy was to be kept in sight and finally captured, he must continue to go forward alone. And with the thought he proceeded. He had gone scarcely more than another thirty feet when something happened that for the instant seemed to make his heart stand still and the blood to freeze in his veins. Momentarily he had lost sight of his quarry. In that instant while he groped about him, undecided as to his exact position and the direction he should pursue, the cold steel of a revolver barrel was thrust against his right temple, and Ollie for the first time was aware of the presence of another man, not more than two feet away from him. It may have been that only a fraction of seconds elapsed, but to Ollie, rigid and helpless in the darkness, unable to see his opponent or make a single move, it seemed like an eternity of time, in which sudden death was inevitable, before a low voice close to his ear commanded, “Put up your hands!” Ollie could have shouted with joy and relief. He could have embraced the speaker in a great hug. Instead, he very wisely followed a policy of “safety first.” He put his hands straight into the air, as directed, and as high as he could reach, so that there might be no mistake as to his intentions. Then he whispered sharply, “Tom, it’s Ollie; for the love of Mike take that gun away from my head. I don’t like the feel of it at all. You might get a sudden twitching of that trigger finger.” “Well I’ll be hanged,” ejaculated Tom Walton, in a hushed and rather abashed tone. “It’s good I didn’t shoot first and speak afterward. I thought you were that Hun. Where is he?”