"Now we've won," said Yan, "whatever the others do, and all that remains is to get back."
"I'm awfully tired," said Pete; "let's rest awhile."
Yan looked at his watch. "It's four o'clock. I think we'd better camp for the night."
"Oh, no; I want to go home. It looks like rain."
It certainly did, but Yan replied, "Well, let's eat first." He delayed as much as possible so as to compel the making of a camp, and the rain came unexpectedly, before he even had a fire. Yet to his own delight and Peter's astonishment he quickly made a rubbing-stick fire, and they hung up their wet clothes about it. Then he dug an Indian well and took lots of time in the preparation, so it was six o'clock before they began to eat, and seven when finished—evidently too late to move out even though the rain seemed to be over. So Yan collected firewood, made a bed of Fir boughs and a windbreak of bushes and bark. The weather was warm, and with the fire and two blankets they passed a comfortable night. They heard their old friend the Horned Owl, a Fox barked his querulous "Yap-yurr!" close at hand, and once or twice they were awakened by rustling footsteps in the leaves, but slept fairly well.
At dawn Yan was up. He made a fire and heated some water for tea. They had very little bread left, but the Mallard was untouched.
Yan cleaned it, rolled it in wet clay, hid it in the ashes and covered it with glowing coals. This is an Indian method of cooking, but Yan had not fully mastered it. In half an hour he opened his clay pie and found the Duck burned on one side and very raw on the other. Part of it was good, however, so he called his companion to breakfast. Pete sat up white-faced and miserable, evidently a sick boy. Not only had he caught cold, but he was upset by the swamp water he had taken. He was paying the penalty of his indiscretion. He ate a little and drank some tea, then felt better, but clearly was unable to travel that day. Now for the first time Yan felt a qualm of fear. Separated by a dozen miles of swamp from all help, what could he do with a sick boy? He barked a small dead tree with a knife, then on the smooth surface wrote with a pencil, "Yan Yeoman and Pete Boyle camped here August 10, 18—"
He made Pete comfortable by the fire, and, looking for tracks, he found that during the night two Deer had come nearly into the camp; then he climbed a high tree and scanned the southern horizon for a smoke sign. He saw none there, but to the northwest, beyond some shining yellow hills, he discovered a level plain dotted over with black Fir clumps; from one of these smoke went up, and near it were two or three white things like teepees.
Yan hurried down to tell Pete the good news, but when he confessed that it was two miles farther from home Pete had no notion of going to the Indian camp; so Yan made a smoke fire, and knife-blazing the saplings on two sides as he went, he set out alone for the Indian camp. Getting there in half an hour, he found two log shanties and three teepees. As he came near he had to use a stick to keep off the numerous Dogs. The Indians proved shy, as usual, to White visitors. Yan made some signs that he had learned from Caleb. Pointing to himself, he held up two fingers—meaning that he was two. Then he pointed to the Pine woods and made sign of the other lying down, and added the hungry sign by pressing in his stomach with the edges of the hands, meaning "I am cut in two here." The Chief Indian offered him a Deer-tongue, but did not take further interest. Yan received it thankfully, made a hasty sketch of the camp, and returned to find Pete much better, but thoroughly alarmed at being so long alone. He was able and anxious now to go back. Yan led off, carrying all the things of the outfit, and his comrade followed slowly and peevishly. When they came to the river, Pete held back in fear, believing that the loud noise they had heard was made by some monster of the deep, who would seize them.
Yan was certain it could be only an explosion of swamp gas, and forced Pete to swim across by setting the example. What the cause really was they never learned.
They travelled very fast now for a time. Pete was helped by the knowledge that he was really going home. A hasty lunch of Deer-tongue delayed them but little. At three they sighted Caleb's smoke signal, and at four they burst into camp with yells of triumph.
Caleb fired off his revolver, and Turk bayed his basso profundo full-cry Fox salute. All the others had come back the night before.
Sam said he had "gone ten mile and never got a sight of that blamed river." Guy swore they had gone forty miles, and didn't believe there was any such river.
"What kind o' country did you see?"
"Nothin' but burned land and rocks."
"H-m, you went too far west—was runnin' parallel with Beaver River."
"Now, Blackhawk, give an account of yourself to Little Beaver," said Woodpecker. "Did you two win out?"
"Well," replied the Boiler Chief, "if Hawkeye travelled forty miles, we must have gone sixty. We pointed straight north for three hours and never saw a thing but bogs and islands of burned timber—never a sign of a plain or of Indians. I don't believe there are any."
"Did you see any sandhills?" asked Little Beaver.
"No."
"Then you didn't get within miles of it."
Now he told his own story, backed by Pete, and he was kind enough to leave out all about Peetweet's whimpering. His comrade responded to this by giving a glowing account of Yan's Woodcraft, especially dwelling on the feat of the rubbing-stick fire in the rain, and when they finished Caleb said:
"Yan, you won, and you more than won, for you found the green timber you went after, you found the river Sam went after, an' the Injuns Wesley went after. Sam and Wesley, hand over your scalps."
XXX
A New Kind of Coon
A merry meal now followed, chaffing and jokes passed several hours away, but the boys were rested and restless by nine o'clock and eager for more adventures.
"Aren't there any Coons 'round here, Mr. Clark?"
"Oh, I reckon so. Y-e-s! Down a piece in the hardwood bush near Widdy Biddy Baggs's place there's lots o' likely Cooning ground."
That was enough to stir them all, for the place was near at hand. Peetweet alone was for staying in camp, but when told that he might stay and keep house by himself he made up his mind to get all the fun he could. The night was hot and moonless, Mosquitoes abundant, and in trampling and scrambling through the gloomy woods the hunters had plenty of small troubles, but they did not mind that so long as Turk was willing to do his part. Once or twice he showed signs of interest in the trail, but soon decided against it.
Thus they worked toward the Widdy Baggs's till they came to a dry brook bed. Turk began at once to travel up this, while Caleb tried to make him go down. But the Dog recognized no superior officer when hunting. After leading his impatient army a quarter of a mile away from the really promising heavy timber, Turk discovered what he was after, and that was a little muddy puddle. In this he calmly lay down, puffing, panting and lapping with energy, and his humble human followers had nothing to do but sit on a log and impatiently await his lordship's pleasure. Fifteen minutes went by, and Turk was still enjoying himself, when Sam ventured at last:
"'Pears to me if I owned a Dog I'd own him."
"There's no use crowdin' him," was the answer. "He's runnin' this hunt, an' he knows it. A Dog without a mind of his own is no 'count."
So when Turk had puffed like a Porpoise, grunted and wallowed like a Hog, to his heart's content and to the envy of the eight who sat sweltering and impatient, he arose, all dribbling ooze, probably to seek a new wallowing place, when his nose discovered something on the bank that had far more effect than all the coaxings and threats of the "waiting line," and he gave a short bark that was a note of joy for the boys. They were all attention now, as the old Hound sniffed it out, and in a few moments stirred the echoes with an opening blast of his deepest strain.