“What’s behind the cloud?  Can you make out?” Greg bawled up.

“I’m trying to see,” Dick replied.  “There, I got a glimpse then.  It’s some kind of animals, heading for this camp at a gallop.”

“It can’t be cavalry,” shouted Reade.  “You don’t see any men, do you?”

“No,” Prescott called down, shielding his eyes with one hand.  “Say, fellows!”

“Have you guessed what it is?” demanded Harry Hazelton.

“I know what it is—–­now!” Dick answered.  Then he began to descend the tree with great speed.

“Careful, there!” shouted Tom Reade.  “That isn’t a low baluster you’re sliding down.”

“Keep quiet, until I reach the ground,” gasped Dick.  As he came nearer those below saw that he looked truly startled.

Then Dick reached the low branches, and began to look for a chance to jump.

“We’ve got to get out of here, fellows!” he called.  “You know the trick that cattle—–­owners have in this part of the county of turning their cattle out to graze in one bunch.  That bunch is headed this way—–­hundreds strong, and it’s going to rush through this camp, trampling everything in the way!”

CHAPTER VII

FIGHTING THE MAD STAMPEDE

“Nothing doing, and don’t get excited,” replied Tom Reade, shaking his head.

“There will be a lot doing in three or four minutes,” Prescott retorted excitedly.  “The cattle are stampeded, and they’ll sweep through here like a cyclone.”

“The trees will break up the stampede,” Tom insisted coolly.

“Not much they won’t,” Dick answered.  “The cattle are headed along a natural lane, where the trees are less thick than in other parts of the forest.”

“The trees will stop ’em before they get here,” Reade insisted.

“The trees will do nothing of the sort,” uttered Dick, glancing swiftly about him.  “The cattle are among the trees already.  Just hear that rumble.  And it’s a lot closer now.”

“I reckon we’d better move, do it now, and do it fast,” cried Hazelton, who knew that Dick’s judgment was generally the best.

“And leave our camp to be trampled down and made a complete wreck by a lot of crazy cattle?” gasped Greg Holmes.

“I’d rather have the camp trampled than my face,” retorted Dalzell.

“I don’t want to flee from here and leave the camp to be destroyed, and our summer’s fun spoiled,” protested Greg.  “We must stop the cattle, or split their stampede.”

“All right, Holmesy,” agreed Tom ironically.  “I appoint you to do my full share in stopping a stampede of cattle.”  Reade’s face had suddenly grown very grave as he now realized that the trees were not stopping the frenzied cattle.

Dick, who had been thinking, suddenly wheeled, making a break for the supplies.

“Get a box of matches, each one of you!” he shouted.  “Then sprint with me for that patch of sun-baked grass just north of us.”