The boy began to run till he drew close to the blaze; then he veered off, skirting the shore just above the surf line. Opposite the fire, he slipped up to a sand hill, crawled to the top and peered over.
The form, though fast approaching the region of shadow, was still visible in the glow, and the sound of crunched sand was distinctly perceptible. The cause of the slow gait of the stranger was now apparent.
"He's got a game foot. Wonder if he's been shot," was the watcher's thought.
His scout training, the obligation to go to the aid of the injured, first asserted itself.
"You bet I won't go yet," was his second thought. "If he's all square, why didn't he come up to the house for help? I'll lay low till I find out what sort of bird he is. Gee!"
Up once more, the lad slipped along below the sand hills to a point well beyond the glow of the embers. Then he cautiously made his way to a higher point and looked over. The form, dragging slowly, was still in sight.
"I'm going to keep an eye on that fellow even if I run the risk of a bullet," Cat declared.
