Pete came to a halt within a few feet of the prostrate form, waving the torch vigorously above his head. Dick felt a cold perspiration standing out upon his face again; another move of the young lumberjack might bring his heavy boot down upon him.
Motionless, he stared up at Pete, ready to spring to his feet on the instant.
"I reckon the warmint's skipped," came in a surly undertone. Pete stirred, then turned sharply on his heel.
A loud yell had echoed through the forest with startling abruptness.
"Somethin' has ketched Tom Smull!"
The crashing of Pete's footsteps grew fainter; and, as the yellow torchlight vanished, the pale rays of the moon again came in for their own.
The astonished Dick Travers was once more alone.