“How about one whistle if everything’s all right?” Tim asked.  “Then you’ll know where I am if I change direction.”

“All right,” Don agreed, and Tim slipped away among the trees.

After that Don followed the sound of soft, guarded whistles.  The combination of a cane and a bad foot made it slow work.  Once he tried to hurry, and the ankle stabbed him cruelly.  He was all right so long as he used the foot carefully, and he sighed and resigned himself to a snail’s pace.  Every now and then he would come upon Tim, standing like a statue—­waiting and listening.  Once Tim took off the bandages, wet them, and put them back.

When the job was finished, Tim gave him a hand and helped him up.  They stood looking at each other.  Each boy read something in the other boy’s eye.  An embarrassed grin twisted Tim’s mouth.

“You’re all right,” Don said suddenly.

“Well—­” Tim looked away.  “I’m going to be.”

The flight with the treasure was resumed.  Tim disappeared ahead.  Almost immediately he was back.

“We’ve got to swing out,” he said.  “There’s a lot of tangled underbrush near the brook.  We’ll go more to the west.”

“That will carry us over toward our old trail,” said Don.

Tim nodded.  They both knew what that meant.  Either Eagles or Foxes had been following the blaze.  The dangers of a meeting were increased.

They had completely lost track of distance.  They did not know how far they were from the edge of Lonesome Woods.  They did not even know where they were.

The flight slowed down to a cautious advance.  So slow did they go that Don’s tender foot scarcely impeded them.  Tim would go out in front and come back, and then go off to the sides.  He ranged about tirelessly.  And always his whistle, low, soft, kept guiding.

There came a time when for a quarter of an hour the whistle did not sound.  Don became alarmed.  Which way to continue he did not know.  In doubt he stopped.  He heard a stirring off to his right, and quickly faced that way.  Tim stole toward him.

“I think I heard something,” he whispered.

They listened, but heard only forest noises.

“Careful,” warned Tim, and slipped away once more.

Don watched him until he disappeared.  Following, he made sure not to stray from the direction Tim had taken.  He limped around trees, and tried to avoid places where there were deep leaves and dead branches, because leaves and branches made noise.

Suddenly a sound halted him abruptly—­two low, short whistles—­the signal of danger.

Tim came back with concern on his face.  “They’re over there, Don.  Quick! this way.”

They changed their course to the east again.  After a while they halted.  For a moment they heard nothing.  Then, to the left, came unmistakably the faint sound of voice.

Again they changed their course.  Each step now was made with caution.  By and by, when they thought they were safe, they stood still and strained their ears.