All was very quiet—so still that it gave the girl an uneasy feeling, as if she were being watched by a multitude of hostile eyes.
The footprints led to a large tree in a fairly open area. On one of the low, overhanging bushes, a bit of dark wool had been snagged.
“Someone climbed up there either to rest or sleep,” Penny thought.
In the bushes close by, the girl heard a faint, rustling sound.
“Who’s there?” she called sharply.
No one answered. All was still for a moment. Then again she heard the whisper of disturbed leaves.
Penny’s flesh began to creep. Suddenly losing all interest in the footprints, she decided to beat a hasty retreat to the boardwalk.
The decision came too late. Before she could move, a dozen big rooters led by an old gray boar, swarmed out of the bushes, surrounding her.
Too frightened and startled to cry out, Penny huddled back against the tree trunk. The rooters had spread out in a circle and slowly were coming closer.
Retreat to the safety of the boardwalk was completely cut off. The leader of the pack now was so near that she plainly could see his razor-sharp ivory tusks. In another moment, the animal would attack.