His journey back took him south along the Hawkeye Spoke and then (for variety’s sake, I suppose, or perhaps in the hope of shortening the journey an inch or two) he followed the White Bar Trail (rim trail) south till he hit into old Buck’s trail from Sandyfield. He had not been on this trail since the time he was there with me, which was early spring, and now he found it very much overgrown; or, to be exact, he did not find it at all. Still, Tom does not need a trail; how he finds his way in strange woods at night is beyond my comprehension. He said he could hike through the woods from the country club above Bridgeboro and get home quicker than I could drive home by the road. And he did it. But of course, I do not drive as he does. Well, he left the White Bar Trail about where he thought old Buck had been accustomed to crossing it, and plunged into the thicket. By now it was dark, but he said he had the stars to guide him. Still, I think he could not have been too sure of his way, for he went to the trouble of climbing a tree to see if he could catch a glimpse of a light in the Gulch. If Brent had grown tired of waiting and managed to get out of that earthy dungeon, the light would prove as much. Anyway, Tom climbed a tree and was not able to distinguish the faintest spark anywhere. He moved out on a limb so that his view might not be embarrassed by the heavy foliage, but not a glimmer could he see in all that wild, desolate country. Then, suddenly, he heard a menacing sound beyond him on the limb and was aware of two savage eyes fixed upon him, alert to his every move. Advancing farther out on the limb was out of the question. Even retreating to the trunk seemed likely to give action to the wrath which was blazing in those two shining eyes. A move in either direction seemed fraught with peril. CHAPTER XIX—Oblivion Brent Gaylong could see nothing, but he felt the flat rock on which his foot had pinioned the snake sinking beneath the pressure. As it yielded and settled in the oozy bottom it was necessary for him to press still harder with his foot, or at least to maintain the pressure. There was a tendency to relax this pressure somewhat as the rock sank, for Brent knew not how far it might go down in that unseen muck. Obviously, he could not hold the snake imprisoned except upon a firm foundation. Obviously, also, the harder he pressed the more the rock would go down. This new and ominous turn of affairs below him was somehow communicated to the winding, clinging, undulating mass that held his leg like a spiral cable. There were pressure and relaxation of pressure in that sinuous body, as if the reptile were preparing for a new stage in the deadly tussle.