“Why did we start so early?” Greenleaf asked. “They are not likely to come before morning.”
“No,” Sturgis said, “they won’t come before morning but I don’t know just where that runway is. The moon will be up after a while, so that we can find it and pick out a good place to hide.”
“What sort of a trap do they use?” Scott asked.
“They don’t use a trap,” Sturgis said, “they use a snare. Bend down a sapling, attach a wire loop to it, and fasten it down with a trip. You don’t want to get into it for it may be a good-sized tree and it would jar you some.”
They waited in silence for two hours. It was too cold to sleep. Scott tried it once, but he soon woke up shivering. After that he tried to keep warm by deep breathing and straining one muscle against another. The darkness was beginning to seem interminable when the moon, coming slowly above the horizon, cast a faint shimmer of light through the clouds. As the light grew stronger Scott distinguished the steep declivity close in front of them leading down to the swamp and recognized the trout stream which the bear had kept him from fishing. The tangled swamp looked in that half light like a pretty poor place in which to catch a man, but he tightened his shoe lacings at the mere thought of the race and the blood tingling through his veins soon warmed him.
“Now let’s see if we can find that runway,” Sturgis said, rising stiffly. “Look out for that snare.”
They crawled slowly along the edge of the hill, searching for the deer-trail and taking great care not to leave a trail themselves—for as Sturgis had said, men who were running the risk of a hundred-dollar fine would be mighty suspicious of the least sign of an intruder. They had not gone over forty rods when they came to a very plain trail leading down into the swamp. “This must be the trail,” Sturgis said, “and this little clump of young popple is a good place to hide. They ought to come from this side.”
Once more they took up the silent, weary watch. It seemed to Scott as if he must get crosseyed looking down that narrow trail. Occasionally his eyes would become so blurred that he had to take a general survey of the surrounding country to relieve his strained muscles. There was not a sound in the woods. It was that period which is a sort of “no man’s land” in the daily program, the time when life seems at its lowest ebb, when the sinister noises of the night have ceased and the songs of the morning have not yet begun.
Slowly the sky began to pale and the birds began to move restlessly in the trees. Almost before they could fully realize it the world was wide awake. The light grew stronger and stronger till the real sunlight was visible spreading fanlike up from the eastern horizon.
“Well,” Sturgis said nervously, stretching himself, “if they are coming it is pretty near time for them to be here.” He peered out through the bushes toward the camp and immediately jerked his head back violently. “By George, there comes Newman, now,” he exclaimed excitedly. “Don’t make a sound, whatever happens.”