He had carefully noted the spot where the last sound was heard, and as he strained his eyes now he was able to make out a crouching figure within ten feet of him.
"Ted?" said a quavering voice, "is that you?"
Evidently Monkey was entertaining a little hope that after all it may have been his comrade who had chased after him so persistently. Paul did not reply, but moved swiftly forward. He saw the other make a move as though about to try and resume his flight; but the young scout leader of the Red Fox Patrol did not mean to let so fine a chance slip through his fingers.
He made a quick spring that landed him on the fugitive. With all his strength Paul threw him back to the ground.
"Got you, Monkey!" he exclaimed, triumphantly; "now you'll come back with me to our camp, and explain what sort of meanness you were up to, trying to burn us out!"
The boy underneath seemed to be so badly frightened that he could hardly find his tongue to say a word. He had shown spirit enough when climbing through those trees to enter the hostile camp; yet now that he was held a prisoner his natural cowardice returned. But before Paul
could drag him to his feet there was an unexpected interruption to the little affair.
"Hey, boys!" called a voice he recognized as belonging to Ted Slavin, "get a move on you, and surround the wise guy. We've got him in a hole, and it's twenty-three for yours, Paul Morrison! He aint goin' to crawl out of this pickle, if we know it. Jump him, fellers!"