climbing or stumbling headlong, accompanied by ejaculations of
thankfulness that his gun was not loaded.

His breath came in hot, strangling gasps, the veins in his head were
swollen and stinging like whipcords, there was a dull, pounding noise in
his ears, and a drumming at his heart. He confessed that he was
thoroughly "winded" when he had been following the trail for nearly two
hours, so he seated himself upon a withered stump beside it to rest.

He had relinquished the idea that the track would bring him out near
Uncle Eb's camp. Had it led thither, he would have rejoined his comrades
long before this. His only hope now was that by patiently following it
on he might reach the camp of some other traveller, or the lonely log
cabin of a pioneer farmer. He had heard of such farm-settlements being
scattered here and there on forest clearings.

So presently Dol Farrar got to his feet again, when he had recovered
breath and strength, and told himself pluckily that "he wasn't going to
knock under," that "he had been in bad scrapes before now, and had not
shown the white feather." He gritted his teeth, and resolved that he
would not show that craven pinion, even in the desperate solitude of
these baffling woods where no eye could see his weakness. He did not
want to have a secret, humiliating memory by and by that he had been
faltering and distracted when his life depended on his wits and
endurance.

He squared his shoulders sturdily, as if to make the most of the
budding manhood that was in him, and trudged ahead. And, indeed, he had
need to take his courage in both hands, and force it to stand by him;
for he had not gone far when, though the forest still continued dense,