A pang of fear shot through Dick Travers' heart; almost involuntarily he threw up his hands, catching hold of another limb above his head. The branch he was on gave a second ominous crack, its dried leaves rustling loudly.
With a supreme effort, he drew himself up, the sound of a commotion among the lumbermen ringing in his ears.
"A panther somewhar in the trees!" he heard Pete Colliver yell.
Breathing hard, Dick Travers hung suspended, his feet dangling in the air. For an instant, the fear of a shot being fired made a cold chill run through him; it was on the tip of his tongue to let his presence be known when he discovered that the men who had sprung to their feet were not hurrying in his direction. Screened by a multitude of branches and leaves, he regained courage.
"I'll take a chance and try to get away," he breathed, sturdily. "My! If those rough lumbermen should happen to find me hanging around like this," he managed to smile grimly, "they mightn't be a bit polite!"
The terrific strain on his arms soon began to tell. But Dick, gritting his teeth, twisted about, in an effort to see what was going on.
The men, possibly believing Pete Colliver's explanation to be the right one, were already searching around, and a cold perspiration began to stand out upon Dick Travers' face when his eyes caught the metallic gleam of their guns.
"Gracious!" he thought. "Dicky, you're in a precious bad fix. It won't do to stay here two seconds longer."
Torches were sending yellow streaks flaring among the trees and bushes. Any instant their rays might reveal his presence. Dick instantly began to work his way toward the main trunk, the faint noise of his progress drowned by the crashing of many feet in the brush.
"Wal, the varmint's scooted!" cried Pete, presently.
"Scooted nothin'!" snorted Jimmy. "Didn't I tell ye I hearn 'im away back thar? The critter follered us, jist a-waitin' ter jump down on somebody's neck. Hey, what was that?"
Dick Travers' foot had slipped as he rested it upon a limb, and, in an effort to save himself, he had caused the branches and leaves to rattle sharply.
"Hey! What was that?" repeated Jimmy, in affrighted tones.
"I reckon it's a painter, sure nuff, boys!" cried Tom Smull, falling hastily back toward the fire. "Watch yerselves, or he'll chaw yer head off!"
"Skeered, eh?" sneered Bart Reeder. "Don't ye think we uns is more'll a match fur one pesky varmint, Smull? Come out o' that, an' stan' up to it like a man."
"Scar't! I ain't scar't o' nothink that walks," retorted Tom Smull, hotly; "eh, Griffin? By gum, listen ter that!"
Dick, in trying to descend quickly, while the voices were still raised, had missed his hold on the trunk, and gone slipping downward through yielding twigs and masses of leaves. It was more the noise occasioned by the fall than the mishap which sent another icy chill along his spine, for he dropped only a few feet, landing on the ground where there was sufficient vegetation to break the force of his descent.
Scarcely daring to breathe, he crouched low, listening to the excited voices of the searchers, and expecting every instant to find himself surrounded.
Again Dick was on the point of yielding obedience to his overwrought nerves and sending a yell of surrender; but, somehow, it was never uttered. The flickering torchlight was again picking out in strong yellow dashes the limbs above his head.
Pressed hard against the tree trunk, Dick heard rough, angry exclamations, as vines and bushes impeded the lumberjacks' progress, and trembled violently as footsteps grew louder. He seemed to be cornered; his glorious plan doomed to inglorious failure.
"I tell ye, Pete, the critter ain't fur off," cried Jimmy. "Keep yer peepers on the branches, fellers!"
"Only hope they do," reflected Dick. "Cæsar! Wonder if I dare risk it?"
A few yards distant, the moonlight revealed a dense mass of brush and thickets surrounded by high bunch grass.
"With about thirty feet start, I'd wager the whole crowd would never find me," thought Dick, grimly. "I won't give up yet—no, sir; here goes!"
Throwing himself flat on his stomach, he began to worm his way toward the goal, taking advantage of every shadow, a loud crashing of feet and flaring light close by showing that there wasn't an instant to spare.
Blades of grass swept into the boy's face; twigs and sticks made his hands smart painfully. But, with a firm resolve not to give up until every vestige of hope was gone, he kept ahead.
"Maybe they'll stop in a few minutes," he reflected. "Whew! All kinds of creeps in this adventure! Ah!"
A feeling of relief shot through him, as he drew up well in the shelter, and cast an anxious look behind.
The sight was disheartening. A half dozen blazing torches could be seen moving about in an erratic fashion, sometimes disappearing behind the trees. There was one, and Dick's eyes fastened upon it with fascinated attention, that kept headed straight toward him.
With his lips tight set, he crawled still further, snuggling down close to the ground, then stopped and began to pull leaves and grasses over his body, until the nearness of the footsteps warned him that it was time to stop.
"Now it's all up," groaned Dick, keyed to a high pitch of excitement.
A heavy footstep close at hand jarred on his nerves like an electric shock. Almost holding his breath, he gazed fearsomely between the twigs of the protecting thicket. The searcher was coming nearer every second. The suspense was almost more than the boy could stand.
A short, stocky figure suddenly emerged into view, skirting around the thicket.
"Pete Colliver!" flashed through Dick Travers' mind.
A blazing pine-knot which drowned the pale green rays of the moon illuminated his irregular features with striking effect. Pete's little eyes were roving eagerly over every low-hanging branch, and a grunt of disappointment fell from his lips—the search had revealed nothing.
"Bust it! Whar has the warmint went, I'd like to know?" he growled.
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.