A cavalcade of horsemen was rapidly approaching the edge of the timber in which the lumbermen's camp was situated, the thud of hoof-beats alone breaking the silence of early morning.
With faces grim and determined, the six, at a word from Bob Somers, reined up.
"Remember, fellows, we don't want to have any scrap with Pete," he said, casting a significant look toward Jack Conroy. "Now that we know he's trailing us, it ought to be easy to throw him off the track."
"Pete's camp must be close here," added Sam. "Gracious, but don't I hope Dick is with him! Ready?"
Bob waved his hand. In a moment nine ponies crashed noisily between the trees. There were now no signs of fire or smoke to guide them, but the boys, having judged its position carefully, rode ahead without hesitation.
Within a few minutes their ears were assailed by the sound of loud voices, while a crashing of many feet jarred crisply through the air.
"Great Scott!" cried Bob Somers. "What does that mean?"
Uttering a whistle of amazement, he jerked his horse back almost upon its haunches. The others followed his example.
Presently six silent and motionless horsemen confronted a crowd of lumbermen.
The boys gazed at the familiar, bronzed faces before them as if their minds could not grasp the reality of the scene, while the men, fully as astounded as themselves, stared earnestly back. The heads of Pete Colliver and Jimmy of Sellade were seemingly supported by a mass of shrubbery.