They had scurried hither and yon, and yonder and thither, until they were well-nigh discouraged, when, just as they were crashing through some thick underbrush, B.J. stopped suddenly short.  Sawed-Off bumped into him, and Jumbo tripped over Sawed-Off; but B.J. commanded them to be silent so sharply that they paused where they had fallen and listened violently.

Then they heard far and faint in the distance to the right of their course a little murmur of voices just barely audible.

B.J.’s quick ear made out the difference between this far-off hubbub and the other quiet sounds of the night.

That dim little noise his breathless fellows could just hear was the wild hullabaloo the foolish Crows had set up to drown out the voices of Tug and History, as they gave the Lakerim yell.

B.J.’s ear was correct enough not only to understand the noise but to decide the direction it came from, though to the other Lakerimmers it came from nowhere in particular and everywhere in general.  Before they had made up their minds just how puzzled they were, B.J. was striking off in a new direction at the top of his speed, and was well over the stone wall before they could get up steam to follow him.  Across the road and through the barbed-wire fence he led them pell-mell.  There was a little pause while Jumbo helped the lubberly Sawed-Off through the strands that had laid hold of his big frame like fish-hooks.  B.J. took this chance to vouchsafe his followers just one bit of information.

“They’re at Roden’s Knoll,” he puffed.

Roden’s Knoll was a little clearing in the woods that marked the highest point of land in the State, though it was approached very gradually, and nothing but a barometer could have told its elevation.

It was a long run through the night, over many a treacherous bog and through many a cluster of bushes, which, as Jumbo said, had finger-nails; and there was many a stumble and jolt, and many a short stop at the edge of a sudden embankment.  One of these pauses that brought the whole nine up into a knot was the little step-off where Tug and History had thought they were being shoved over the precipice of a Grand Canon.

At length Roden’s Knoll was reached, but there the weary Lakerimmers were discouraged to find nothing but a smoldering fire and the signs of a hard straggle.

“We’re too late; it’s all over,” sighed Pretty, thinking sadly of the mud and the rips and tears that disfigured his usually perfect toilet.

“I move we rest a bit,” groaned Sleepy, seconding his own motion by dropping to the ground.

“Shh!” commanded B.J.; “d’you hear that?”

Instantly they were all in motion again, for they heard the noise of many runners crashing through the thicket.

Soon they saw a shadowy form ahead of them and overtook it, and recognized one of the Crows.  They gave him a glance, and then shoved him to one side with little gentleness, and ran on.  Two or three of the Crows they overtook in this manner, but spent little time upon them.