They lay behind the brush and waited. It seemed, after a while, that they had been there an hour. Don had just begun to believe that the pursuit had gone off in a new direction, when Tim's hand grasped his shoulder with a convulsive pressure.
There had been a faint sound of cracking wood.
Nearer it came, almost directly in front of them. Then another sound echoed off to one side. All at once a khaki-clad figure slipped between two trees.
Tim's hand grew rigid. Don tried to flatten himself into the earth.
They knew the boy—Larkins, patrol leader of the Foxes. On he came. Suddenly he saw the haversack. He halted and jumped sideways behind a tree.
Don and Tim knew what that meant. Larkins thought it might be a trap. It was not going to be easy to fool him.
Would he never come out from behind the tree? They had heard, after he disappeared, a queer woody sound that somehow did not seem out of place. Now they heard it again and recognized its source. Larkins was hitting a stick of light wood against other wood.
At the first signal, the echoing sounds they had heard off to the side had ceased. At this new signal it began again. Larkins walked out and picked up the haversack. A moment later another khaki figure came into view. It was Rood, another Fox scout.
"It's Don's," Larkins said in excitement; "here's his name."
"Maybe they're hiding around here," said Rood.