The man retraced his steps, sulkily.  He had been foraging on his own account, and had unearthed bigger game than he could manage.

Ruth watched the man until he passed from sight.  As she turned about she faced Andy sitting among the bushes.  She jumped, then laughed nervously.

“How did you get your cane?” she asked.

“I was not six feet away.”  Andy’s voice was strangely calm.  “I hope you know, Ruth,” he faltered, ’that had things turned out differently, I would have been with you.  You know that?”

“Yes, Andy.”  A flush came to the pale face.  “I think I feared you would come more than anything else.  But I do not trust that fellow.  He will come back.  I know he was suspicious.  Choose another way—­next time!”

“Aye, and I’ll stop up this trail.  Good-by, Ruth.  Hurry, I will wait until you are safe, and this passage made harmless.”

For a few days longer Andy remained near home, not caring to run the risk of seeking the longer path of which he knew, while the Britisher’s suspicions might still be alert.  Once or twice he had met the fellow on the public highway, and he feared to arouse any further cause for watchfulness.  He had discovered, also, that the man had gone back to the spot where he had encountered Ruth, but Andy laughed, when he recalled how cunningly he had hidden the trail.  But now the boy could wait no longer, he must try to get near the lines and listen.

Taking the longer way, he left his crutch hidden inside a cave-like opening.  He would never again trust the outside.  Then in true Indian fashion he crept along through the rocky passage.  He reached the other end and for an hour or more waited patiently, but only the passing of a lonely sentinel rewarded him, and he guessed that no news would come that way.

He dared not emerge from his shelter, for the day was too bright and clear, the sentinel would surely spy him, and better no news than to give away the secret of the passage.  Disappointedly he crept back, and at the other end put his hand cautiously forth to grasp his crutch.  Then he became instantly aware that he was discovered, for his hand was grasped in a firm, unyielding clutch.

Andy’s heart stood still.  He had no doubt but that Ruth’s annoyer had dogged his steps and had captured him.  But there was little of the coward about Andy; he would face the worst.  He pushed through the tangle of leaves, trying to free his hand, but the clasp was like iron.  The captor was not the Britisher, but a man of quite another sort.  He was young, handsome, splendidly formed.  As he lay at full length upon the moss Andy thought he had never seen so tall a man.  He wore velvet knee-breeches, long blue coat, and a wide-brimmed hat, which shielded a pair of friendly, laughing eyes.  One glance and Andy lost all fear.

“Now that you have come from your hole, you young mole, good-morning to you, and where have you fared?” The voice was ringing and full of cheer.