repeated.

"We've got to find out who's whistling," said Charley. "Keep the pup quiet
and I'll slip out and take a look."

He left the tent, but had hardly gone ten feet before a voice cried,
"Hello, Russell! Are you in the thicket? This is Morton, the ranger."

"Sure we're here," replied Charley, an expression of relief coming on his
face. "We didn't know who it was and kept quiet until we could take a
look. I'm coming out now."

He hurried from the thicket and shook hands warmly with the newcomer.
Instinctively he knew that he was going to like his ranger. Big,
broad-shouldered, quite evidently powerful, with a kindly expression, a
winning smile, and a deep voice that instantly created confidence, the
ranger was a picture of honest manhood. No one could look into his deep
blue eyes, set far apart, or examine the lines on his face, at once
betokening strength of character with gentleness, and not feel that here
was a man in very truth. One knew instinctively that he would never
hesitate a second to risk his life to save another's, and that he would be
as gentle as a woman in his dealings with all creatures. But the great,
strong jaw and the straight mouth and long nose all foretold fearless
courage, and were ample warning that the man would be terrible if stirred
to wrath.

"Come in and see our camp," said Charley, after the two had conversed for
a moment. And he led the way into the thicket.

The ranger followed, his practiced eye noting everything. "You've made a