As silently as a cat he climbed over the snow wall and approached the fire. Beside the large shelter was a small one, and here rested the various traps and stores of our friends. Dan Marcy had brought with him a large but thin blanket, and this he now spread on the ground, and began to place in it such articles as he wanted, and which the young hunters and old Runnell had denied him. There was a tin of coffee and another of sugar, and a fine, thick slice of bacon that made his mouth water. “I’ll have that bacon out of the way before they get up,” he told himself. “And a cup of strong coffee will be just the thing for washing it down with.” He had these articles and several others in the blanket, and was on the point of making a bundle of them, when there came a sudden and unexpected interruption. From the top of the wall of snow came a short, sharp bark, that caused him to jump. “A dog!” he thought. “I didn’t know they had one.” And then, as the bark was repeated, he leaped back in alarm. It was only a fox, but Marcy did not know this, and felt sure he was on the point of being discovered. “Shut up!” he whispered. “Shut up, do you hear?” And then, as the fox barked again, he ran for the other side of the wall of snow and began to climb to the top. The barking of the fox aroused both Runnell and Harry, and each leaped up, reaching for his gun as he did so. “What is it?” asked the young hunter. “A fox—and he’s pretty close,” was the answer. “Reckon as how I had best give him a shot to scare him off.” Running outside, Runnell looked around, but in the semi-darkness could see but little. Aiming high, he fired his gun. As he did this he heard a yell some distance away. “Don’t shoot me! Don’t shoot!” “Who’s there?” he demanded, but this question was not answered. The discharging of the gun aroused the others of the party, and all came rushing out to the fireside. “What did you fire at?” asked Joe. “Well, I thought I fired after a fox,” came dryly from old Runnell. “But I kind of reckon he was a two-legged one.” “Do you mean some person was around here?” “Exactly.” “But I heard a fox bark,” came from Harry. “So did I, lad, and after I fired I heard somebody yell, ‘Don’t shoot me!’ ’Pears to me it was Dan Marcy’s voice, too.” “What could have brought him over this time of night?” asked Fred. “Here is what brought him over!” ejaculated Harry, who had stirred up the camp fire. And he pointed to the blanket and the things lying in it. Joe gave a low whistle. “Going to rob us, eh? It’s lucky we scared him off.” “Well, that is what I call downright mean,” said Fred. “And after we let them have those other things, too! We ought to go over and have it out with them right now.” “Don’t do anything hasty,” interposed Joel Runnell. “I reckon Marcy feels mean enough at being caught in the act.” “Oh, he hasn’t any feelings,” growled Harry. “He’s a wolf in man’s clothing.”