Scarcely had the scouts disappeared amid the foliage when an old man, of gigantic size, with hair that fell upon his shoulders and a beard that came nearly to his knees, arose from a thicket on the easterly side of the river, and, wading across, plunged into the forest on the trail of the boys. Like them, he was armed with a rifle and knife, and carried a pack upon his back. He muttered to himself while striding vigorously along:
“I’ll catch you yet, you young devils! I’ll catch you yet!”
His rapid gait told of a strength quite unusual for one of his years, and it was clear he would prove no mean antagonist for the lads whom he was following.
The scouts started late in the day, and by the time they had traveled ten miles the shades of night were falling fast.
“It’s time to go into camp,” Late suggested.
His comrade agreed to this, and selecting a cleared space beside a small stream, they erected a shelter of bark and brush, made a bed of fir boughs, and sat down to eat their supper.
Owing to this labor, and the noise they had made while at work, neither of the boys heard the sound of footsteps, nor did they suspect that a man stood behind a huge tree a few rods away, watching and listening while they ate and talked.
“Think we better keep guard to-night, Late?” Joe asked.
“Hardly worth while,” the former replied. “I sleep light, you know, an’ any noise out of the ordinary will waken me. We ain’t far enough away from the fort yet for Indians or red-coats to bother us, an’ we’ll have all the watchin’ we need when farther up country, so I guess we’d better turn in tonight.”
“We must have come at least ten miles,” Joe continued.