He settled back in his shelter and resumed his watch in the thicket,
leaving the bear to run where he pleased, which he did, disappearing
with a snort in another thicket. A full ten minutes passed. Robert had
not stirred. He was crouched behind the tree, blending with the grass,
and he held his rifle ready to be fired in an instant, should the need
arise.

The bush that had moved against the wind had ceased stirring long since,
but now he saw another shaking and it, too, paid no attention to the
laws of nature, defying the wind as the first had done. Robert
concentrated his gaze upon it, thankful that he had not made the black
bear the original cause of things, and presently he saw the feathered
head of an Indian appear among the leaves. It was only a glimpse, he did
not see the body or even the face of the warrior, but it was enough.
Where one warrior was another was likely to be in those northern
marches, the most dangerous kind of neutral ground.

He began to slide away, keeping the big tree trunk between him and the
thicket, using all the arts of the forest trailer that he had learned by
natural aptitude and long practice. He went back slowly, but the grass
stems moved only a little as he went, and he was confident that he not
only had not been seen, but would not be seen. Yet he scarcely dared to
breathe--until he reached the bushes inclosing the opening in which his
comrades lay.

He paused a few moments before waking the others and filled his lungs
with air. He was surprised to find that the hands holding his rifle were
damp with perspiration, and he realized then how great the brief strain
had been. Suppose he had not seen the Indian in the bush, and had been
ambushed while on his scouting round! Or suppose he had stayed with his