fail to hear the whistle signals; but that did not matter, as it would be difficult, at best, to locate the scouts exactly, since all of Division “B” were doubtless in hiding by this time.

Not all, however; for there on the edge of the clearing, in full view of the sending station, stood Buck Winter gazing wildly around him, evidently trying to make up his mind where to hide. As usual, Buck had lost his head.

Craning his neck, Hugh could see in the distance two flags,—one held by Bud Morgan, and the other by Arthur Cameron,—pointing directly, it seemed, at the bewildered Buck. Another flag, on the end of the mountain ledge, was being jumped rapidly up and down, to urge speed on the part of the attackers. The air was so still and clear that morning that the defenders’ flags could be plainly seen: small, waving patches of brighter color against the blue of the sky.

Hugh read their messages rapidly.

“Wonder if they can see me?” he asked himself. “I’d better climb down, get Buck out of danger of being captured, and sprint over to those rocks. Then I can—oh jingo!”

He uttered the exclamation aloud, for at that very moment he caught sight of Billy emerging from the timber.

“Buck! I’ve got you!” yelled Billy, dashing forward to seize the young Otter, who promptly turned and fled.

Hugh watched the chase with keen interest.

“Billy is no match for that kid, in speed,” he commented. “He’ll never capture Buck! Wish he could! If one of Division B must be captured so soon, I want it done by a Wolf, anyway: that would give our patrol two points.”

Suddenly Billy Worth stumbled against a half-buried root, staggered, and fell headlong, rolling over and over on the dry leaves. Buck Winter raced ahead—straight into the arms of two scouts of Division “C,” who had skirted the clearing and come out most unexpectedly on the further side.

The first capture was made. The attackers had won the first victory.

In silent dejection Buck took his way back to camp, while his captors signaled the news to the eager watchers on the mountain, and then ran on to join their comrades who were hunting in the woods.

As Buck passed Hugh’s tree, Hugh called down to him:

“Cheer up, Buckie! You’ll do better next time! You would have got away from Billy easily.”

“That’s a cinch!” retorted Buck, in an effort to revive his drooping spirits.

“Wait! I’m coming down.”

“Stay where you are, Hugh!” warned the lad. “There’s Rawson coming this way, and he’ll see you!”

So saying, he walked away, and soon was lost in the shadows of the trail.

Nevertheless, Hugh descended cautiously, crawled on all fours through the tangled underbrush and ferns, and then, rising, strode swiftly yet noiselessly toward a group of lichen-covered rocks, behind which he crouched and waited.

All around him he could hear the rustling of leaves, the snapping of dry sticks, the low calls of unseen comrades who were trying to discover and surround the hiding-places of his division. At intervals there would be dead silence in the forest; and once, peering over a jagged boulder, he caught sight of Billy making questioning signals to the defenders.

Two others of his division passed him, returning to camp, having been found and “touched” by the attackers. It was evident that Division “B,” the enemy, was getting the worst of the game! Perhaps they had not had time to hide. Before starting out, he had told them to select the most unlikely places for concealment. Perhaps they were hidden where they could not watch and read the signals. Not much sense in that, but——

Suddenly a low snarl, like that of an angry feline, startled Hugh. Glancing around him, he beheld a lean, gray, spotted creature crouched upon a rock not more than ten feet away from the spot where he stood. The creature’s large pointed ears were laid back, its short tail was jerking viciously from side to side, its amber-colored eyes were glowing with a greenish light.

“Bobcat!” muttered Hugh aloud; adding inwardly: “and she’s mad at me, too!” He raised his voice to a bolder pitch. “Scat! Sca-a-at, you spotted devil!” he almost yelled, advancing a pace nearer the animal.

But the bobcat did not move.

Hugh “froze” in his tracks. Indeed, a chill shiver crept along his spine; his nerves seemed to tingle as with cold. Without being actually alarmed as yet, he realized that he had nothing except his knife with which to defend himself, in case the beast should spring.

“It isn’t likely she’ll do that,” Hugh decided; “but I didn’t scare her. She won’t budge!”

Indeed, the bobcat’s only movement now was to crouch lower upon the rock, tearing its mossy covering with her claws, flexing the muscles of her sinewy flanks. Would she risk a leap at her enemy? Never had Hugh encountered a wildcat so fearless, so determined to stand her ground. Yet this one was not cornered, not at bay; she had every opportunity to bolt and vanish in the thicket. Why, why did she remain there, poised in that menacing attitude upon the rock?

Like a flash, the only probable explanation came to Hugh: “Kittens!” he reasoned swiftly. “There must be kittens hidden somewhere near. I’d better—no, if I turn she may spring; you never can tell!”

By mere chance his foot dislodged a small stone from the earth. Stooping quickly, still keeping his eyes on the bobcat, he picked up the stone and flung it at the snarling beast. It struck sparks from the rock, glanced off, and went bounding into the dense undergrowth, whence came a very human howl of anguish. The bobcat vanished—but only for a moment.

“Say, what are you doin’; throwin’ stones?” wailed a voice, and Sam Winter stood up above the ferns, rubbing his shoulder. “That’s not fair, Hugh!” he complained. “You are betraying me to——”

“I wasn’t throwing stones at you, you chump! I didn’t know you were there!”

“What were you trying to hit?”

“A bobcat, Sam.”

“Bobcat? Where?”

“I don’t see—oh, look! There she is, just slipping around that stump! Look out, Sam! Beat it!”

With a yell, Sam turned and fled, leaving Hugh again face to face with the creature.

Reckless defiance of danger, a foolhardy lust for battle, now seized Hugh; and all else was forgotten: his comrades, the game they were playing, the record he hoped to make. Here was a far more exciting game, matching his quickness, his steadiness of nerve, with the fierce instincts of that denizen of the forest. Unarmed, he might lay her low with a stone or his hunting knife.

Grasping another stone somewhat heavier than the first, in his right hand, he took careful aim. The next moment, the stone whizzed through the air, there was a blood-curdling screech, and a furry body hurtled across the intervening space, straight toward him. In mid-air, however, it seemed to waver; then it fell headlong to the ground, with a thump, kicking up a shower of dry leaves and clods. By a miracle, Hugh’s well-directed missile had struck the cat on the ribs, breaking them; and she had not had time to check her leap, which had inflicted internal injuries.

Hugh was trembling now with the reaction of excitement. He could scarcely believe that he had taken such a slim chance.

“What a fool I was, what a fool!” he gasped, looking down on the dying wildcat. “I ought to have had more sense than to take such a risk. I’m sorry