At the end of five or ten minutes Ned Clinton, with his eyes fixed upon the broad, flat rock, was sure he saw the figure of a man behind it. It was only the top of his head, thrust a little above the edge of the stone, as if the stranger were seeking a view of the one who was watching him without his purpose being detected. The slouched hat and the eyes and forehead were in plain sight for a minute or two, when they sank down again and all was as before. "If he is a friend," thought Ned, "he is very timid, or he has a queer way of showing his good will." The distance between the two was too great for either to do anything in the way of shooting, but the youth was inclined to send a rifle shot in that direction, as a challenge for the strange craft to come out and show its colors. He called down to Jo again, to watch for the approach of any foe, for he was compelled to give close attention to this particular stranger, and another might steal up beneath the very tree without the one in the branches detecting his danger. In this way nearly an hour passed without any change in the situation, and the fugitives began to look for the return of the Mohawk, he having promised not to stay away long. "I wish he would come," said the watchman, to himself, "for it wouldn't take him a great while to find out what that fellow is driving at. I don't see that I have much chance of learning without his help." If there was any opportunity for the stranger to withdraw, Ned would have suspected the man had done so, but he was satisfied it was impossible for him to elude him in that way, and consequently he must still be behind the rock. Clinton at last grew tired and called to Jo that he was about to fire his gun, to compel the stranger to let him know who he was and what he wanted. Before doing so, he scanned the wood in his immediate vicinity, fearing that some other questionable character had stolen near enough to take a shot at him. He was relieved, however, when after the closest search he was unable to find any cause for fear. There seemed to be no grounds for further delay, and pointing his weapon at the spot where he had last seen the head, he took a quick aim and pulled the trigger. It was a strange coincidence that at this very instant the man was in the act of rising to view again, and the poorly aimed shot, even when the distance was so great, came near proving fatal to the stranger. The smoke was scarcely wafted from the muzzle of the rifle, when the man sprang up from behind the rock, and standing erect, called out in a voice that penetrated far beyond the point aimed at. "What the mischief are you trying to do?" "I was trying to make you show yourself," replied the amazed Ned Clinton, "and that seemed to be the only way to do it." "Well, I can't admit that I fancy that style of saying how-de-do to a fellow. Why don't you sing out to him and ask him what he is after?"