That move was exactly what Chad expected. After a moment or two, Ringtail seemed completely satisfied with what his nose told him. Leaving his duck lying on the ground, he walked slowly forward along the bank in the direction of the pool, passing out of sight amid the tall reeds and cattails. Chad waited some minutes, then very slowly and cautiously stole forward almost to the intersection of the two paths. There he halted and stood motionless, straining to catch some sound from the direction of the pool.
He could not see the pool, for the reeds hid it from view. But he could imagine what was taking place there—the three wood ducks dabbling in the shallows close to the margin, idling and feeding amid the succulent green water-growths along the edges; the lithe gray hunter creeping nearer and nearer amid the reeds, skilfully utilizing every scrap of cover to screen his slow approach. Chad knew the spot well. He could see it and its surroundings clearly in his mind's eye; and he figured the chances rapidly, deciding that, on the whole, the odds were against the gray hunter. The dry leaves of the frost-killed cattails would crackle at the slightest touch. It seemed to Chad impossible that Ringtail could make his way through them so noiselessly as to get within leaping distance of his prey.
Yet, strange to say, Chad's feeling had under-
