The heat from the fire made Carley so drowsy that she could scarcely hold
up her head. She longed for bed even if it was out there in the open.
Presently Flo called her: "Come. Let's walk a little before turning in."

So Carley permitted herself to be led to and fro down an open aisle between
some cedars. The far end of that aisle, dark, gloomy, with the bushy
secretive cedars all around, caused Carley apprehension she was ashamed to
admit. Flo talked eloquently about the joys of camp life, and how the
harder any outdoor task was and the more endurance and pain it required,
the more pride and pleasure one had in remembering it. Carley was weighing
the import of these words when suddenly Flo clutched her arm. "What's
that?" she whispered, tensely.

Carley stood stockstill. They had reached the furthermost end of that
aisle, but had turned to go back. The flare of the camp fire threw a wan
light into the shadows before them. There came a rustling in the brush, a
snapping of twigs. Cold tremors chased up and down Carley's back.

"Shore it's a varmint, all right. Let's hurry," whispered Flo.

Carley needed no urging. It appeared that Flo was not going to run. She
walked fast, peering back over her shoulder, and, hanging to Carley's arm,
she rounded a large cedar that had obstructed some of the firelight. The
gloom was not so thick here. And on the instant Carley espied a low, moving
object, somehow furry, and gray in color. She gasped. She could not speak.
Her heart gave a mighty throb and seemed to stop.

"What--do you see?" cried Flo, sharply, peering ahead. "Oh! . . . Come,
Carley. Run!"