It seemed to young Prescott that he had no more than dropped off into slumber when Tom shook him by the shoulder.

"Half-past ten," whispered Reade, as d.i.c.k sat up. "Go out to the wash basin and dash cold water into your eyes. That will open 'em and freshen you up."

"Have you seen anything of the prowler?" whispered d.i.c.k, as he got upon his feet.

"Not a sign," declared Tom.

"It would be too early for him to prowl about yet," whispered d.i.c.k, as he pa.s.sed out into the Summer night. "Good night, Tom."

Only a faint stirring of the light breeze in the tree tops, the droning hum of night insects, and the occasional call of a night bird---these were all the sounds that came to the ears of the young camp guard.

d.i.c.k dashed the water into his eyes, then felt wonderfully wide awake.

"If Mr. Prowler comes, he'll probably go for the canned vegetables and the biscuit," Prescott decided. "He must already have more meat than he can handle all day to-morrow---if it doesn't spoil."

So d.i.c.k posted himself where he could easily watch the approach of any outsider toward the boxes that served as cupboards for the canned supplies.

The time slipped away, until it was nearly midnight, as Prescott knew from stepping into the tent and lighting a match briefly for a swift glimpse at his watch.

As d.i.c.k came out of the tent he fancied he heard a distant step, crackling on a broken twig.

"If there's anyone coming I'd better slip into the shadow of the canvas," Prescott told himself, acting accordingly.

Presently the stealthy steps sounded nearer to the camp.

"Someone is coming, as sure as fate," d.i.c.k said to himself. "Shall I rouse one or two of the other fellows? But they might alarm the prowler. I'll handle him myself."

CHAPTER XI

A HARD PROWLER TO CATCH

It was the prowler.

Close to the tent he stopped to listen to the heavy breathing that came from the sound young sleepers. d.i.c.k crouched farther back into the shadow.

Uttering a low grunt, that was half chuckle, the prowler slipped along in the darkness, making toward the cupboards.

"My friend, I want a little talk with you," suddenly spoke d.i.c.k Prescott, slipping up behind the uninvited visitor.

The prowler wheeled quickly about.

"You don't want anything to do with me," he corrected, in a harsh voice. "I could eat two or three like you, and then have plenty of appet.i.te left."

"Perhaps," smiled d.i.c.k Prescott undaunted.

"And I'll do it, too, if you don't stand back."

"But I want to talk with you, my friend," d.i.c.k insisted.

"I don't want to talk with you," snapped the prowler.

"You would, if you knew what I want to talk with you about," Prescott continued.

"Is it about food?" demanded the young stranger grimly.

"Then it's about jail," sneered the other harshly.

"Why about jail?" asked d.i.c.k.

"Because that's where you'd like to see me!"

"Why should I want to see you in jail?" Prescott demanded.

"Because I've been visiting your kitchen," leered the other.

"But you can't stop me. Not all of your crowd can stop me!"

"Why do you wish to clean us out of food?" Prescott asked.

"Because I know how to eat," replied the young stranger significantly.

"Is that the only reason you have for trying to clean us all out of food?"

"Why should I have any other reason? And why isn't being hungry a good enough reason?" counter-queried the prowler.

"It has struck me," smiled d.i.c.k, "that perhaps you don't want us in these woods, anyway."

"I don't just hanker after your company," admitted the stranger, with gruff candor.

"Are we bothering you any here?"

"No matter," came the sullen retort.

"To return to the first subject, that matter about which I want to talk with you-----"

"Not to-night," growled the young prowler. Turning on his heel, he started to walk away.

But d.i.c.k kept close at his side.

"Shake my trail, you!" ordered the other gruffly. "If you don't you'll be sorry!"

With that the stranger broke into a loping run. At first glance this gait didn't seem to be a swift one, but it was the long, easy, loping stride of the wolf in motion. Young Prescott found that he had to exert himself in order to keep up with the other.

"Go back to your shack!" ordered the prowler.