Roger had no means of telling whether one hour or five had crept by, when he was aroused by something that gave him a fierce tug. Instantly he was awake, and, although at first he imagined he must have been dreaming, he changed his mind when he heard a low, snarling sound close to his ears, and felt another of those queer tugs. It was cold, for, in rolling about as he slept, he must have displaced his blanket. That jerk at his right leg gave Roger a thrill. He realized that something had taken hold of his fringed deerskin trousers, and was endeavoring to drag him aside. Even as this startling conviction flashed through his mind, for a third time he heard that low growl. It was like that of a dog, when some one approaches while he is gnawing a bone. Roger slightly raised his head and saw two gleaming yellow spots that seemed to glow like coals of fire. He knew they were the eyes of some sort of forest beast that was crouching close alongside him; though why it had seized upon his trouser leg and kept up this spasmodic tugging Roger could not comprehend. Where was his rifle? He put out a hand, groping for the weapon, which action was the signal for more growls, and a spitting sound such as a cat might make. Then he heard a low whispering voice saying: "Keep still, Roger; don't move! I've got my gun, and can fix him! Steady, now!" Then came a mighty crash that awoke the echoes of the forest. CHAPTER VIII THE VALLEY OF ENCHANTMENT ROGER knew what was expected of him under such conditions. A regard for his own safety induced him to roll aside. If the wounded animal endeavored to fasten upon his body in its death throes, he preferred to be in some other and safer locality. There was confusion for a minute or so. Roger, after escaping from the claws of the unseen beast, scrambled first to his knees and then to his feet. He could not think of going back to search for his gun, because something was struggling on the very spot, and he could imagine what that writhing object must be. So he drew his hunting knife and waited. Then the sounds began to grow fainter, which the boy knew was a promising sign. Finally all became still again. "Dick!" he whispered. "Yes, I'm here, Roger," he heard his cousin say. "Is he dead, do you think?" asked the other. "I have just poked about with the barrel of my gun, and touched him," Dick replied. "There's no movement to the body, so I feel sure I finished him. Come this way; I felt your gun with my foot just now." They had no means of seeing the motionless form of Dick's quarry, unless they chose to go to great trouble with flint and steel and tinder. There was really no need of this, because all of them were familiar with the denizens of the forest; so that, using their hands, they readily ascertained the nature of the invader of the camp.