"It's something big, and it's moving this way," cried Dave.

"It can't be cavalry," Tom argued. "There are no manoeuvres on;
there is no state camp ever held in this part of the state, either.
What do you-----"

But Dick Prescott was up on his feet by this time. Furthermore,
he was running. He stopped at the base of the trunk of the first
tall tree. Up he went with much of the speed of a squirrel.
Higher and higher he made his way among the branches.

"Say, be careful there, Dick!" called Tom Reade, warningly. "If
you get a tumble-----"

"I'm not a booby, I hope," Dick called down, as he went to still
loftier heights. He was now among the slender uppermost branches,
where a boy would need to be a fine climber in order to make such
swift progress. Even Dick Prescott might readily enough snap
a branch now, and come tumbling to earth.

"Stop!" warned Tom. "If you don't you'll butt your head into
a cloud, the first thing you know."

"Can you see anything?" called Danny Grin.

"I see quite a cloud of dust to the northward."

"How far off?" asked Dave.

"About a mile, I should say, and it's headed this way, coming