How eagerly would he pounce upon it, and then head back to the vicinity
of the lonely cabin, around which clung such sad memories of that
tragedy of the long ago, when the waters came up in the night, and took
the whole Coombs family off to their death.

Once Max felt his nerves thrill with expectancy, as he caught a movement
close by. His hands involuntarily tightened on the stock of the gun he
carried, not to use upon the convict, but as a measure of precaution.

Listening intently, he felt sure that he could detect a slight creeping
sound, as if some one, or some _thing_, were stealthily approaching the
spot where he crouched, and held his very breath with suspense.

Surely this could not be a man making his way along. Such a burly figure
must make more noise than now reached him. Only a sleek animal could
pass from log to log with but a faint pat of feet; or it might be the
brushing of the bushes in its progress toward him.

But it was no small raccoon or mink that was slowly approaching, as
though bent upon finding out what manner of intruder lay in concealment
there.

Facing the slight sounds Max waited, and watched, and listened. If his
pulses were bounding much faster than their wont it was not surprising,
for as yet he had not the slightest idea as to what might happen.

Should this, for instance, be one of the ferocious wild-cats for which
the island had been famous long before Wesley Coombs ever dreamed of
settling there, Max felt that he would hardly find himself in an
enviable position; since the gloom under the trees must prevent him from