“Here he is, Mr. Grubb,” cried Harriet.

“Harriet, what is it?” demanded Miss Elting.

“Just a plain, rotting old tree trunk,” returned the girl.

“But—­but it wasn’t there before,” stammered the guide.

Again Harriet laughed.  Her companions gazed at her admiringly.  None, unless it were Jane McCarthy, would have had the courage to go out there as Harriet Burrell had done.  They told her so, too, at which Harriet laughed again.

“Let me tell you something,” said Harriet.  “I’m not a bit braver than you are.  As it happened, I knew what that was the instant I saw it.  The tree trunk was not standing there when we came into camp last night.  Had it been, Mr. Grubb would have seen it.  The trunk had fallen across the trail.  When I started to go down below to look for our supplies I stumbled over the stick, and to prevent some one else tripping over it, I threw it out of the trail.  The stick ended over and stood upright against the rock where you saw it.  I presume Mr. Grubb did see it tip to one side.  I know, however, that the stick has been there ever since I tossed it out of the trail last night.”

“Well, I swum!” muttered Janus sheepishly, “I’m so easy it’s a wonder I haven’t lost myself.”

“No, you were doing your best to protect us,” replied Miss Elting.  “But I would rather you did not shoot again except in real defence.  In other words, don’t shoot unless some one shoots at you.”

“What am I going to do?” demanded the guide rather crossly.  “Sit down and allow some outlaw to rob us at every turn?”

“We know you are ready to defend us,” pacified Miss Elting.  “What would you advise us to do?”

“Make no further move until morning.  When daylight comes we will get up the stuff that has been thrown over there, make up our packs and start for Mt.  Washington,” returned Janus promptly.  “I’ll reach a telephone before long and send word to the sheriff about what has occurred.  He may be out already on the bridge matter, but he ought to know about this last affair.  It will give him a clue as to where the man is.”

“But the unknown wretch may follow us,” protested the guardian.

“He won’t.  He’s gone into hiding after what has happened.  You won’t see any more of him.  You see, he knows we shall be on the lookout for him, and he won’t be taking any chances on it until a day has passed—­perhaps about to-morrow night—­then he may come back here to see what he can find.  I am banking on that, after having thought the matter over.  We won’t be here, but the sheriff will, if I can get hold of him.”