He waited for them to pass down the river and out of sight, but at the
curve they turned and came back against the stream, the man with the
rifle in his hand still keenly watching the western shore, where Dick lay
hidden. Neither of them spoke, and the only sound was the swishing of
the paddle. The hoot of an owl came from the depths of the forest behind
him and he knew that it was a signal. The hair of his head lifted.

He felt the touch of the supernatural. The invisible pursuer was behind
him again, and the silent soldiers held the crossing. The hoot of the
owl came again, a little nearer now. He was tempted to rise and run,
but his will held him back from such folly. His unknown enemy could
pursue, because his boots left a deep trail in the soft earth. That was
why he had been able to follow again in the morning.

He crept back some distance from the river and then, rising, retreated
cautiously up the stream. He caught glimpses of the water twice through
the bushes, and each time the canoe was moving up the river also, one man
paddling and the other, rifle on his arm, watching the western shore.

Dick had a feeling that he was trapped. Colonel Winchester had been wise
to make him wear his uniform, because it was now certain that he was
going to be taken, and death had always been the punishment of a captured
spy. He put down the thought resolutely, and began to run through the
forest parallel with the river. If it were only the firm hard ground of
the North he could hide his trail from the man behind him, but here the
soil was so soft that every footstep left a deep mark. Yet he might find
fallen trees thrown down by hurricanes, and in a few minutes he came to a
mass of them. He ran deftly from trunk to trunk, and then continued his
flight among the bushes. It broke his trail less than a rod, but it
might take his pursuer ten minutes to recover it, and now ten minutes