He was doing his best to brace up and speak plainly, when his sentence
was stopped by a noise of pounding footsteps. The next moment he saw
himself surrounded by three well-grown, daring-looking lads, one about
his own age, one older, one younger, who were gazing at him with
critical curiosity. All the pluck in Dol Farrar rose to meet this
emergency. He felt as if his legs were threatening to smash under him
like pipe-stems. There was a whirling and buzzing in his head. It seemed
as if his words had such a long way to travel from his brain to his
tongue that they got confused and changed before he uttered them.

But through it all he was conscious of one clear thought: that he was an
Old-World boy on parade before these strapping New-World lads. He set
his teeth, drove his gun hard against the ground, and, as it were,
anchored himself to it, while strange, doubting lights came into his
eyes as he tried to get a grip of his senses.

[Illustration: DOL SIGHTS A FRIENDLY CAMP.]

He succeeded. At last he addressed the gentleman with the horn, knowing
that he was speaking to the point,--

"Good-evening, sir," he said. "I--I--we're camping out somewhere in the
woods. I--I got lost to-day. I've walked an awful distance. Perhaps you
could tell me"--

But the man stepped suddenly forward, with a blaze of welcome in his
eyes; for he saw the brave effort which the lad was making, and that his
strength was giving out. He put a kindly arm through Dol's, as if to
warmly greet a fellow-camper, but really to support him.