There was a cold shiver ran in my spine at that second crack, for it was eerie to know that some live thing, man or beast, was following us up through the bushes. "It’s a lion, sure thing," Donoghue said behind me, "and it’s goin’ at this stalking of us darned careless, too. I wisht we could get to a clear place and give him a chance to show himself." "Lion?" asked I, astonished. "Yes—panther, that is," said Apache Kid. "In the phraseology of the country, that is," I suggested. Apache looked over his shoulder at me. "You are pretty cool for a tenderfoot," he remarked. "This is a bad spot for us to be stalked by a beast like that. Let me come behind now, Larry," he continued. "We are getting to a clear place, I think, and he may spring before we get out." "Not you," said Larry. "Just you go on ahaid and let the lad keep in between." Here the bushes thinned out considerably and when we reached this opener part Donoghue bade us walk straight on. "Don’t look back," said he. "Let him think we don’t know he’s followin’. Give him a chance to cross this here glade. We’ll stop just inside them further trees and if he shows himself there, we ’ll get him then, sure thing. What between men and beasts we suttingly have been followed up some this trip, and I ’m gettin’ tired of it. This here followin’ up has got to end." But though we carried out Donoghue’s suggestion, crossing the open space, entering again on the path where it continued down-hill in the forest again, and halting there, the "lion" did not show himself. It was here, while standing a little space, waiting for the panther’s appearance, if panther it was that shadowed us, that Apache Kid pointed a finger at the ground before us, where a tiny trickle of water, in crossing the path, made it muddy and moist. "See the deer marks?" he whispered. "Neat, aren’t they? This, you see, is a game trail from the hills down to the lake——" "No good," broke in Donoghue. "He ain’t going to show himself." So we passed on, and soon the way became more precipitous; the underbrush cleared; the trees thinned; and in a jog trot we at last went rattling down the final incline and came right out with the impetus of that run upon the open ground around the lake, though of the lake itself, now that we were at its level, we could discern little—only tiny grey glimpses, so closely was it thronged about by rushes, and they so tall. A thousand frogs were singing, making quite a din in our ears, so pent in was the sound in that cup-like hollow. But weary as we were, we rejoiced to have come to our desired camp and soon were sitting fed and contented round the fire. Of all our camps so far this seemed to me the most secure. Consequently, it horrified me a little when Apache Kid remarked, taking his cigarette from his lips: "Where do you think Canlan will be to-night?" Donoghue considered the burning log: