"Just what it does sound a lot like," Prescott nodded. Then he dropped to the ground, holding one ear close to the earth.

"And, whatever the rumble may be," Prescott went on, "it travels along the ground. Just get your ears down, fellows."

"It's something big, and it's moving this way," cried Dave.

"It can't be cavalry," Tom argued. "There are no manoeuvres on; there is no state camp ever held in this part of the state, either.

What do you-----"

But d.i.c.k Prescott was up on his feet by this time. Furthermore, he was running. He stopped at the base of the trunk of the first tall tree. Up he went with much of the speed of a squirrel.

Higher and higher he made his way among the branches.

"Say, be careful there, d.i.c.k!" called Tom Reade, warningly. "If you get a tumble-----"

"I'm not a b.o.o.by, I hope," d.i.c.k called down, as he went to still loftier heights. He was now among the slender uppermost branches, where a boy would need to be a fine climber in order to make such swift progress. Even d.i.c.k Prescott might readily enough snap a branch now, and come tumbling to earth.

"Stop!" warned Tom. "If you don't you'll b.u.t.t your head into a cloud, the first thing you know."

"Can you see anything?" called Danny Grin.

"I see quite a cloud of dust to the northward."

"How far off?" asked Dave.

"About a mile, I should say, and it's headed this way, coming closer every minute."

"What's behind the cloud? Can you make out?" Greg bawled up.

"I'm trying to see," d.i.c.k 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!" d.i.c.k answered. Then he began to descend the tree with great speed.

"Careful, there!" shouted Tom Reade. "That isn't a low bal.u.s.ter you're sliding down."

"Keep quiet, until I reach the ground," gasped d.i.c.k. As he came nearer those below saw that he looked truly startled.

Then d.i.c.k 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," d.i.c.k 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 d.i.c.k, 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 d.i.c.k'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.

d.i.c.k, 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 gra.s.s just north of us."

"What's the idea?" Dave asked, but d.i.c.k was already running fast.

"Get your matches and come on!" d.i.c.k called back over his shoulder.

As speedily as could be done the others followed suit. d.i.c.k reached the sun-burned strip of gra.s.s, whose nearer edge was some two hundred yards north of camp.

"Hey! He's starting a forest fire!" gasped Dan Dalzell, as he caught sight of young Prescott bending over the dried, yellowish gra.s.s.

"Scatter, all along the strip!" shouted Prescott, rising as soon as he had ignited a clump of gra.s.s. "Get this whole strip of burned gra.s.s blazing. It's the only chance to save the camp---or ourselves!"

Dalzell shivered. Nor could Dan understand how such a course would serve to save their camp. But he saw the others following their leader's orders.

"Get over the ground, Dan!" bellowed d.i.c.k, as he sprinted to another point. "Start a lot of blazes!"

So Danny Grin fell in line with the movements of the others, though he felt not a little doubt as to the wisdom of the course.