fast on the slope, and the great forest received and hid them as if they
were its wild children returned to their home. The foliage was so dense
that Dick caught only flitting glimpses of the camp below, although many
fires were yet burning there.

The wisdom of putting the regiment into the hands of the sergeant was now
shown. Rising to the trust, he called up all his reserves of wilderness
lore. He listened attentively to the voice of every night bird, because
it might not be real, but instead the imitation call of man to man.
He searched in every opening under the moonlight for traces of footsteps,
which he alone could have seen, and, when at last he found them, Dick,
despite the dusk, saw his figure expand and his eyes flash. He had been
kneeling down examining the imprints and when he arose the colonel asked:

"What is it, Whitley?"

"Men have passed here, sir, and, as they couldn't have been ours, they
were the enemy. The tracks lead south on the slope, and they must have
been going that way to join Slade's command."

"Then you think, Sergeant, we should follow this trail?"

"Undoubtedly, sir, but we must look out for an ambush. These men know
the mountains thoroughly, and if we were to walk into their trap they
might cut us to pieces."

"Then we won't walk into it. Lead on, Sergeant. If the enemy is near,
I know that you will find him in time."

The sergeant's brown face flushed with pride, but he followed on the