As Dick 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," Dick 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. Dick 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 Dick
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 appetite left."
"Perhaps," smiled Dick Prescott undaunted.
"And I'll do it, too, if you don't stand back."
"But I want to talk with you, my friend," Dick insisted.
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