Phil slept far into the night, he never knew how far, but he believed it was about half way between midnight and morning. When he awoke it was very dark, and there was no noise but that of the breathing men and the rustling wind. Just why he, a sound sleeper, had awakened at that time he could not say. But he had eaten largely, and he was conscious of thirst, a thirst that could be quenched easily at a little spring in the wood. The boy rose, letting his blanket drop to the ground, and glanced over the sleeping camp. Despite the darkness, he saw the forms of recumbent men, and some coals that yet glimmered faintly. Around them was the dark circling line of the wagons. No regular watch was kept as they were yet far from dangerous country, and, passing between two of the wagons, Phil went toward the spring, which was about three hundred yards away. It was a nice cold spring, rising at the base of a rock, and running away in a tiny stream among the poplars. Phil knelt and drank, and then sat upon an upthrust root. The desire for sleep had left him, and his mind turned upon his great search. He took the paper from the inside pocket of his coat, unfolded it, and smoothed it out with his fingers. It was too dark for him to read it, but he held it there a little while, then folded it up again, and returned it to its resting place. He was about to rise again and return to the camp, but something moved in the thicket. It might have been a lizard, or it might have been the wind, but he was sure it was neither. The sound was wholly out of harmony with the note of the night. Phil remained sitting on the upthrust root, but leaned against the trunk to which the root belonged. His figure blended darkly against the bark. Only an eye of uncommon acuteness would note him. The slight stirring, so much out of tune with all the wilderness noises, came again, and, despite his strength and will, both of which were great, Phil felt ice pass along his spine, and his hair rose slightly. That uncanny hour at which evil deeds happen held him in its spell. But he did not move, except for the slipping of his hand to the pistol in his belt, and he waited. Slowly a dark face formed itself in the bushes, and beneath it was the faint outline of a human figure. The face was malignant and cruel, a reddish copper in color, with a sharp, strong chin, high cheek-bones, and black glowing eyes. These eyes were bent in a fierce gaze upon the circle of wagons. They did not turn in Phil’s direction at all, but the face held him fascinated.