The girls had followed this procession in an air-course that exactly paralleled the trail.  When the men disappeared under the trees, they came together in a chattering group, obviously astonished, obviously irritated.  Hours went by.  Not a thing stirred in the jungle; not a sound came from it.  The girls hovered and floated, dipped, dove, flew along the edge of the lake close to the water, tried by looking under the trees, to get what was going on.  It was useless.  Then they alighted on the tree-tops and swung themselves down from branch to branch until they were as near earth as they dared to come.  Again they peered and peeped.  And again it was useless.  In the end, flying and floating with the disconsolate air of those who kill time, they frankly waited until the men emerged from the jungle.  Then, again the girls took up the airy course that paralleled the trail to the camp.

For two weeks the men rigidly followed a program.  Alternately they shut themselves inside the Clubhouse and concealed themselves in the forest.  They stayed the same length of time in both places — never less than three hours.

For two weeks, the girls rigidly followed a program.  When the men retired to the Clubhouse, they spent the three hours hovering over it, sometimes banging viciously with feet and hands against the walls, sometimes dropping stones on the roof.  When the men retired to the jungle, they spent the three hours beating about the branches of the trees, dipping lower and lower into the underbrush, taking, as time went on, greater and greater risks.  But, as in both cases, the men were screened from observation, all their efforts were useless.

Finally came a day with a difference.  The men retired to the forest as usual but, by an apparent inadvertence, they left the door of the Clubhouse open a crack.

As usual the girls followed the men to the lake, but this time there was a different air about them; they seemed to bubble with excitement.  The men crawled under the underbrush and waited.  The girls made a perfunctory search of the jungle and then, as at a concerted signal, they darted like bolts of lightning back in the direction of the camp.

“I think we’ve got them, boys,” said Frank.  There was a kind of Berserker excitement about him, a wild note of triumph in his voice and a white flare of triumph in his face.  His breath came in excited gusts and his nostrils dilated under the strain.

“I’m sure of it,” agreed Ralph.  “And, by Jove, I’m glad.  I’ve never had anything so get on my nerves as this chase.”  Ralph did, indeed, look worn.  Haggard and wild-eyed, he was shaking under the strain.

“Lord, I’m glad — but, Lord, it’s some responsibility,” said Honey Smith.  Honey was not white or drawn.  He did not shake.  But he had changed.  Still radiantly youthful, there was a new look in his face — resolution.

“I feel like a mucker,” groaned Billy.  He lay face down on a heap of vines, his forehead pressed against the cool leaves.  “But it is right,” he added as one arguing fiercely with himself.  “It is right.  There’s no other way.”