Orde stormed into the camp up stream, his eyes bright, his big voice
booming exultantly.

"Roll out, you river-hogs!" he shouted to those who had worked out
their shifts earlier in the night. "Roll out, you web-footed sons
of guns, and hear the little birds sing praise!"

Newmark, who had sat up the night through, and now shivered sleepily
by the fire, began to hunt around for the bed-roll he had, earlier
in the evening, dumped down somewhere in camp.

"I suppose that's all," said he. "Just a case of run logs now.
I'll turn in for a little."

But Orde, a thick slice of bread half-way to his lips, had frozen in
an attitude of attentive listening.

"Hark!" said he.

Faint, still in the depths of the forest, the wandering morning
breeze bore to their ears a sound whose difference from the louder
noises nearer at hand alone rendered it audible.

"The troops!" exclaimed Orde.

He seized a lantern and returned down the trail, followed eagerly by
Newmark and every man in camp.

"Troops coming!" said Orde to Daly.