How solemn, how still, it seemed up there.

The nearer sounds about the camp seemed only to emphasize that brooding silence.

It was like the silence of some vast cathedral--awful in its majestic solitude.
And this impassive, stolid, hard-shell pilgrim, knowing his business like the bully scout he was, had come stumbling, sliding, rolling and waddling down out of those fastnesses, because there was something right here which he wanted.

And he had brought a clew.

Should the human scout be found wanting where this humble little hero had triumphed?
"I never paid much attention to those stories," Tom mused; "but if there's a draft dodger living up there, I'm going to find him.