That sound was like a low, harsh moan or groan, and it seemed to come from the sagging, deserted camp before them. Some shrank back shivering, while others appeared eager to rush forward. “He’s there!” breathed Nelson. “That must be he!” Springer stooped and placed his lips close to Cooper’s ear: “Sus-sus-sounded to me like sus-sus-some one dying,” he chattered. “Let the others go ahead,” gasped Cooper. “I don’t want to find him first. I don’t want to see him. I’d like to get away this minute.” With his arm outstretched and the palm of his hand turned backward to restrain his companions, Billy Piper advanced swiftly on his toes. Within a few feet of the shanty structure, he saw that the door was standing open. At that moment another gust of wind rustled through the trees, and immediately the harsh moaning sound was repeated. “It’s the door,” declared Billy, enlightened. “The wind moves it and makes the old hinges creak.” “My Jinks!” mumbled Crane, in great relief. “I thought it must be him sure; I thought it was Roy. Mercy! I’m all ashake.” Stepping boldly to the black doorway, Piper struck a match, but a gust of wind extinguished it. Immediately he lighted a second match, shielding the tiny blaze with his cupped hands. Close behind him crowded the others, seeking to look over his shoulders into the camp when the blaze should be sufficient to reveal the interior of the place. Having protected the match until it burned brightly, Billy held it out before him and slightly above his head, shifting his curved hands until they served as a reflector for the tiny flaring light. The shanty contained only one room, which seemed to be quite empty and deserted, save for an old broken table and a few crude pieces of furniture. There were shadows in the corners, but none of these seemed sufficient to hide a human being. The flame scorched Billy’s fingers, and he dropped the match, which, a bent and glowing coal, floated zigzagging and spiraling downward, burst into bits as it struck, and died out. Some one behind Piper drew a long breath. “I don’t reckon he’s here, after all,” said the voice of Grant. “There’s something white lying on the floor,” declared Billy, with suppressed excitement. “I saw it just as I dropped the match.” Lighting another, he stepped forward and picked the thing up. It was a damp cloth, and with it in his hand he retreated into the moonlight outside. “What is it? What is it?” questioned the boys, pressing around him. Billy held it up. “Looks to me like a wet towel that had been wound round something and fastened into place with safety pins,” he said. “That’s what it is, too. Fellows, Hooker may not be here now, but he has been here—he certainly has. This proves it.” “How do you make that out?” asked Osgood, doing his best to appear as calm as would seem consistent. “This towel proves it,” reiterated Piper. “It couldn’t come here without being brought, could it?” “No; but I don’t see——”