So, with that determination urging him on, Paul sprang in swift pursuit of the rapidly-disappearing form.
Since the moon had gone down, and darkness prevailed, it was not easy to see the figure of the runner; but if Paul's eyes failed him his ears did not. The fugitive was making a tremendous amount of noise as he slammed through the woods. He collided with trees, stumbled over trailing vines, and sprawled across more than one half rotten log that chanced to lie in his path.
Paul did much better. Perhaps he happened to possess eyes that were able to see in such semi-
darkness; then again it might be his absence from the fire had much to do with his ability to discern obstacles in time to avoid contact with them.
At any rate he knew one thing, which was, that slowly but surely he was overtaking the spy sent by the Slavin crowd to create havoc in the camp of the scouts.
Paul also knew that it was perhaps a very unwise move on his part, this chasing so madly after Monkey Eggleston. Of course the fellow had friends not so far away, and the chances were he was even now heading toward the place where Monkey knew they would be waiting to hear his report.
Still Paul would not give up. The fact that he was surely overtaking the other fellow acted as a sort of spur, urging him to continued efforts. Had the chase seemed hopeless he might have abandoned it after the first spurt; but now he felt that at any moment he was apt to pounce upon the object of his pursuit, who was floundering along just ahead.
Suddenly the noise stopped. Either Monkey had been given a jolt in his last tumble that knocked the breath completely out of his body; or else he was "playing 'possum" in order to deceive his pursuer.
Paul groped his way forward. The trees be
came more scattered, and what seemed to be a small glade dawned upon his sight.