“For goodness sake be careful,” Jack cautioned.
He, as well as Bob, knew that should one of those sledge-hammer blows land where it was aimed the fight would stop automatically. The continuance depended on Bob’s ability to dodge them.
But he was on his guard now and Jack knew that he would not be caught napping a second time. The man rushed again, almost at once and, from the way he handled himself, Jack saw that he possessed little if any knowledge of scientific boxing.
“Bob can handle him all right, barring an accident,” he whispered to Rex.
This time the man had struck with even more force than at first, and the momentum carried him off his balance. Before he could recover, Bob’s right fist had landed just back of his right ear. A loud grunt, more of astonishment than of pain, followed the blow. The bully stepped back a pace and glanced at his followers as if to ask what it was all about.
“Go on an’ beat heem up,” cried one of them. “Heem’s only a kid.”
As if ashamed of his indecision the man rushed back to the attack, and for a time Bob had all he could to do to protect himself from the avalanche of blows which were showered at him. The man’s two arms were working like piston rods, and so rapidly that the boy had no time to even attempt to get in a blow.
“Hope he won’t be able to keep that up very long,” Jack whispered. “In that kind of fighting there’s always a possibility of a blow landing and one of those punches, if it is struck fair, would pretty near stop a train of cars.”
“Him not got heap much wind,” Kernertok declared, as he caught the sound of the man’s quick breathing.
“Why you no heet heem?” one of the other breeds shouted.
The man paused an instant.
“Why you no stand still an’ fight?” he sneered.
“This suits me,” Bob laughed. “Remember this is your fight.”
Again the man rushed and once more he had his hands full to protect himself. But he knew that the harder the man worked the sooner would come the time when he could force the fighting. “Safety first,” he thought, as he dodged about.
“Bob’s tiring him out,” Jack whispered, as he listened to the heavy breathing.
But the next second he gave a gasp of fear. In backing away from a vicious rush Bob’s heel had struck a root, and before he could recover his balance, a blow had caught him on the chin and over he went.
A shout of encouragement came from the two half-breeds.
“Bon boy, Jacques! Jump on heem queek. You got heem.”
But fortunately Bob’s chin had been too far away to catch more than a small fraction of the force of the blow, and he was not even dazed. However, the breed was quick to take advantage of his opportunity, and before Bob could scramble to his feet he was upon him.
Bob knew that his only chance now depended on his ability to prevent the man from getting a hold. It required quick work, for the breed proved to be better at wrestling than at boxing. Throwing himself upon the boy he wrapped his arms about him in a hold that Bob had all he could do to break. It was fortunate indeed for him that he knew nearly all the important holds. Once the man got a grip on his neck, but it was quickly broken and, exerting all his strength and skill, Bob managed to roll the man over until he was on top. In another second he was on his feet.
“Good boy, Bob!” Jack shouted, jumping about in his excitement.
“Heap some boy,” Kernertok grunted.
“I’ll say he is,” Rex agreed.
The breed, angered anew at the failure of his attempt, got more slowly to his feet, and for a moment stood scowling at Bob. He was breathing hard, and it was evident to the boy that he was not in the best of physical condition. The easy life of the summer had softened his muscles, and twenty or more pounds of surplus fat had shortened his wind.
“Me geet you this time,” he shouted, as he started toward him.
Evidently realizing that he was not in Bob’s class when it came to boxing, he had decided to change his tactics and made a lunge at him with outstretched arms. Bob had little difficulty in eluding the grasp, and succeeded in placing a stiff punch on his nose. The breed started back with a grunt of pain and surprise, as the red blood gushed from his nostrils.
“First blood for Bob!” Jack shouted.
“Me keel you for dat,” the man shouted, now maddened beyond control.
“Look out for his foot!” Jack shouted.
But Bob was on the watch for just that move, and as the breed kicked, he stepped back and caught the foot as it was at its highest point. The man fell on his back, the wind knocked entirely out of his body.
At that moment one of the other breeds stepped forward.
“You keep out of this,” Jack said sternly, as he drew his automatic from his pocket.
On seeing the gun the breed stepped quickly back.
“This was to be a fair fight with no interference,” Jack told him.
For a minute or two the fighter lay writhing on the ground in an effort to regain his breath. As he struggled to his feet a look of astonishment mingled with one of fear was on his face. He could not understand why Bob had not finished him when he had him helpless.
“Had enough?” Bob asked pleasantly.
The man glanced at his companions and then at the automatic in Jack’s hand.
“I’ll put the gun back,” Jack said quickly, as he caught the glance. “There will be no use made of it so long as your friends play fair.”
“How about it?” Bob asked again.
The man still hesitated.
“Take your time. I’m in no hurry.”
But the fall had knocked the fight as well as the wind out of the bully, and muttering something which the boys failed to catch, he slouched off toward his canoe, followed by the other two.
“Did he hurt you any?” Jack asked anxiously, as soon as they were out of hearing.
“Nary a scratch,” Bob laughed, as he drew on his coat.
“Well, you’ve got about the biggest nerve I ever saw,” Rex declared, as he held out his hand.
“It’s not so much nerve as you think,” Bob explained. “You see, these fellows don’t know how to use their strength when it comes to fighting along scientific lines. Most all of them rely entirely on their strength, and a fellow who knows the rules can handle them easily enough.”
“It listens good the way you say it,” Rex declared, shaking his head, “but excuse me, and I know a little about boxing myself.”
“You could handle one of them,” Bob assured him, but Rex again shook his head.
“Just the same I hope we’ve seen the last of them,” he said, as he watched the three men shove off their canoe and paddle slowly away up the river.
“That is a consummation devoutly to be desired,” Bob said slowly, “but I’m very much afraid that—”
“That the consummation won’t be consummated,” Jack interrupted.
“Don’t you know that it is very impolite for small boys to interrupt their elders,” Bob turned to his brother with a look of mock severity on his face. “How many times have I told you that children should be seen and not heard?”
“You mean you think they’ll come back?” Rex asked anxiously.
“Mebby,” Bob nodded.
“To-night?”
“Quien Sabe?”
“Seems to me there are several loose ends to this problem,” Jack declared some time later, as supper, having been finished, they sat around the camp fire.
“Meaning?” Rex asked.
“Well, in the first place we’re not at all sure that the guy we’re after is within a thousand miles of here. Then there’s that funny business of the big tracks, the likes of which no mortal man ever saw before, and the stealing of the rifle. And now those breeds are to be reckoned with. The big question is whether they just happened to meet us or had been after us.”
“Is that all?” Bob smiled.
“I should think that was enough.”
“Mebby.”
“Mebby what?” Jack asked.
“Oh, just mebby,” Bob laughed.
“Well, it seems that eternal vigilance is the price of safety up here on this trip, so I suppose it means that we keep watch again to-night, eh?” Rex asked, as he threw more wood on the fire.
“Right you are, son,” Bob replied.
But the night passed without incident, so far as they were aware. Again they watched by twos, but in spite of all their care the now familiar tracks were once more to be seen on the bank of the river in the morning.
“What-do-you-know-about-that?” Jack asked, as he gazed at the imprints. “I’d take my oath that nothing moved round here while I was on watch.”
“How’s Sicum?” Bob turned to the Indian as he asked the question.
“Sicum, him big fool dog yet.”
“But he’s getting better, isn’t he?”
“Some, but heap slow.”
“Suppose he’d track that thing?”
Kernertok shook his head: “We try um. Here, Sicum, you smell um track.”
But the dog only whined, and with his tail between his legs, slunk away from the tracks.
“Never mind, old fellow. We understand that it isn’t your fault,” and Bob, kneeling down, took the dog’s head between his hands and looked into his eyes.
The dog whined and eagerly licked his hand, as if fully appreciating the sympathy.
“He’ll come around in time,” Bob assured them. “Remember, he saved our lives once,” he added with a glance toward Jack.
“And he deserves our thanks and care if he never does another thing so long as he lives,” Jack declared, but Kernertok only shook his head sadly.
It was midafternoon when Rex, who at the time, was paddling in the bow, lifted his paddle and asked:
“What’s that roaring noise?”
“Him heap big falls,” Kernertok replied.
“Can we shoot them?”
“No. Have mak’ carry.”
The boys noticed that for some time the current had been growing swifter as the river narrowed. The banks on either side were very steep and from ten to thirty feet high.
“We land right round this curve,” Kernertok told them, as they approached a sharp bend in the river. “No other place before falls.”
“Which side?” Rex shouted.
“Right.”
As the canoe swept around the bend it was traveling at a speed of some fifteen miles or more an hour. The roar of the falls could now be plainly heard. Rex caught sight of the landing place, a narrow strip of sand between two large rocks, and dug his paddle into the water to turn the bow toward it. How it happened, he could never tell, but the paddle slipped from his hands just as he had the canoe headed for the shore. He made a frantic effort to recover it, nearly upsetting the boat, but the swift water whirled it away.
So quickly did it happen that the canoe swung around parallel with the shore before Jack, who was in the stern, realized what had happened.
“Dig into her, Jack boy,” Bob shouted.
But even as he spoke they all heard a loud snap above the rush of the water. Bob turned his head, his heart in his throat. Jack’s face was as white as chalk, as he held up the end of the broken paddle.
“God help us!” Bob groaned.
The canoe was nearly in the middle of the stream, which at this point is about sixty feet wide, and now was rushing with the speed of a race horse toward the falls, not more than a hundred rods away.
“Shall we try to swim it?” Rex shouted in a voice which was strangely calm.
“No can do,” Kernertok shouted back.
The boys realized the truth of the statement, as they glanced down at the swirling water.
“I wonder if this is the end,” Bob thought, as he gripped the sides of the canoe.
“Do we have a chance, Kernertok?” Jack shouted.
“God know,” the old Indian answered, so low that only Bob caught the words.
“Cling on tight,” Bob shouted, as the bow seemed to pause on the very brink of the falls where the water fell to the pool some twelve feet below.
So rapidly were they moving that the canoe seemed fairly to shoot off the top of the falls before it fell. Then down it dropped like a stone. As the canoe hit the water, Bob, who was sitting in the middle, tried to keep it on an even keel, but the weight carried it beneath the surface. As the water closed over his head he kicked himself free and struck out. But some unseen force seemed to be pulling him down. Struggle as he might, it seemed impossible to shake off the grip of the whirlpool. But with dogged determination he fought and finally, just as it seemed as though his lungs seemed on the point of bursting, his head emerged from the water. Shaking the water from his eyes he glanced about him. He was only a few feet from the rocky shore, and in another minute his feet touched bottom. He was safe, but where were the others?
He stood waist deep in the water gazing over the surface of the pool. Was that a head over there close under the falls? As he watched the object moved slowly and soon the form of the Indian rose from the water.
“Me on heap big rock,” he shouted as he caught sight of Bob.
“Where’s Jack and Rex?” Bob shouted back.
“Me no see um.”
“I’m all right,” a voice shouted from the opposite side.
It was Rex, and he waved his arms as he caught sight of Bob.
“Seen Jack?” Bob shouted at the top of his voice.
“No; haven’t you?”
Before Bob could answer Kernertok pointed down the stream. Bob followed his gesture and saw, some twenty feet from where he was standing, a small object moving slowly through the water.
“It’s Sicum,” he shouted.
“Him got something in him mouth,” Kernertok cried, still pointing.
Bob could see that the dog was tugging at something, and he quickly waded down to meet him.
“He’s got Jack,” he gasped as he reached the struggling dog.
Bob saw at once that his brother was unconscious, and fear that he might be dead gripped his heart as he laid him tenderly down on the sand. Blood was oozing from a cut at the back of the head, and Bob shuddered as he knelt and placed his ear over the heart.
“Don’t tell me that he’s dead,” Rex, who had crossed over some rocks a short distance below the falls, cried as he came running up.
“I—I can’t feel his heart beat,” Bob groaned, as he turned the boy over onto his stomach.
“Him hurt heap bad?” Kernertok panted, as he joined them.
“I’m afraid so,” Bob replied, as he placed his hands beneath Jack’s body and slowly raised him up.
A quantity of water ran from the boy’s mouth, and Bob repeated the movement as long as there was any result. Then turning him onto his back he said, “Now we’ll have to try artificial respiration. If we only had a pulmotor.”
Slowly he raised and lowered his arms, but the boy lay as dead. Rex and Kernertok stood with bowed heads, watching for the first sign of returning life.
“Come, Jack boy, you must come,” Bob repeated over and over again, as he continued the movement.
His heart began to grow faint when fully half an hour had passed, and still the boy gave no sign of life.
“I won’t give up,” Bob declared over and over, as he redoubled his efforts. “God won’t let him die.”
Rex had several times tried to make Bob let him relieve him, but he steadily refused and he could only kneel by his side and watch his face and pray.
“He’s coming, Bob,” he whispered suddenly, as he noticed a faint tinge of color in the boy’s cheeks. “Easy now.”
Rex placed his ear on Jack’s breast.
“He’s breathing,” he announced, as he raised his head.
“Thank God,” Bob cried, as he began the movements again. “Where’s Kernertok?”
“I don’t know. Haven’t seen him for some time, but I didn’t notice it.”
“It’s funny where he’s gone.”
The color in Jack’s cheeks slowly increased, and his breathing became deeper and more regular. Soon his eyes opened and he groaned.
“Jack boy,” Bob cried.
“Bob.”
The whisper was so faint that Bob hardly heard it, but never had any sound seemed sweeter.
At that moment Kernertok emerged from the deep woods behind them. He was rubbing something in his hands as he ran towards them.
“Him heap better?”
“Yes, thank God, he’s come to,” Bob replied.
“Heap good,” the Indian bowed his head and the boys saw his lips move.
Soon Jack again opened his eyes and smiled as he glanced about him.
“White boy chew,” Kernertok ordered, as he knelt beside him and forced something between his teeth. “Injun had heap big hunt before find it,” he said, looking up at Bob.
At first Jack’s jaws moved but slowly, but as his strength began to return, he chewed faster.
“That heap good,” the Indian declared, as he put more of the crushed leaves in the boy’s mouth.
Rex was astonished at the rapidity of Jack’s recovery, but Bob, who knew something of the medicine which Kernertok had found, took it more as a matter of course. It was not long before Jack was able to sit up.
“How’d I get out?” he asked.
“If it hadn’t been for Sicum—” Bob began, but Rex interrupted him.
“Look at the dog,” he cried.
Sicum stood a few feet away wagging his tail violently, a thing he had not done since he had been beaten. It was the first time Bob had thought of the dog, and now he sprang toward him, and taking his shaggy head in his arms, he hugged him to his breast. Sicum accepted the caress with a low whine.
“Good old boy,” Bob whispered. “If it hadn’t been for you Jack would have been a goner for sure that time.”
Sicum wagged his tail as much as to say he understood.
Jack’s recovery was rapid, and they found that the cut on his head was slight, although it bled freely for a time.
“I remember feeling a bang on the back of my head just after I went under, and that was the last I knew until I saw you bending over me,” Jack told them. “But who pulled me out?”
“Your rescuer is standing there wagging his tail,” Bob told him, pointing to the dog.
“You mean he pulled me out?”
“Just that.”
“And in saving your life, I really believe he has gotten back his old self again,” Rex added.
“Jimminy crickets, but I’ll bet you’re right,” Jack declared. “Just look at him.”
It was a fact that the dog had lost all sign of his recent behavior, and as Jack spoke to him he bounded to him and nearly knocked him over in his eagerness.
“Good old fellow,” Jack said, as he patted his head. “Perhaps I’ll be able to return the compliment some day.”
“Wonder what’s become of the canoe,” Rex said.
“That’s so; first I’ve thought of it,” Bob added.
They all looked about the pool beneath the falls, but no canoe in sight.
“Would it stay down?” Rex asked.
“Not likely,” Bob replied.
“Her no stay down, no get caught on rock,” Kernertok confirmed Bob’s opinion.
“What’s that sticking up just around that point?” Rex asked, pointing to a place a little below them, where a point of land jutted out into the stream.
“Wait a minute and I’ll see,” Bob said, as he started toward the point.
“Here she is—what is left of her,” he shouted a moment later.
All except Jack, who was still too weak to move around much, hurried to the place. It was evident that the canoe, having risen to the surface, had been carried down until, caught in the little eddy, it had been whirled onto a sharp pointed rock, which had pierced the bottom near the bow. It was out several feet from the shore.
“Just a minute and I’ll have her in,” Bob said, as he waded out into the stream.
“I don’t think she’s damaged so much after all,” he said, as he pulled it up onto the shore. “But every bit of our stuff is gone.”
“That heap bad,” Kernertok shook his head sadly.
“I’ll say it is,” Bob agreed. “Here we are, miles from nowhere and nothing to eat. Oh, we won’t starve,” he added quickly, as he saw the look of alarm on Rex’s face.
“Suppose we look around and see if we can’t find some of the stuff,” the latter proposed.
“Afraid it’s not much use, but we’ll try.”
But although they hunted for some distance down the stream on both banks, they found nothing.
“That whirlpool at the foot of the falls has probably held it down as I thought,” Bob said ruefully. “I suppose it was knocked out of the canoe when it struck. If it hadn’t been it might have held the canoe down too.”
“No loss without some gain,” Rex declared, trying to speak cheerfully.
They lifted the canoe from the water and carried it back to where they had left Jack.
“Guess you’ll get a taste of real roughing it,” Bob said to Rex, as they placed the canoe on the ground bottom up.
“Reckon I can stand it if the rest of you can,” Rex smiled.
“You’re game all right,” Bob assured him.
“Let’s take an account of stock and see what we’ve got,” Jack proposed.
“That heap good,” Kernertok nodded his head. “Mebby we got much, mebby not.”
“I’m afraid the mebby not has it,” Bob said a moment later, after they had all searched through their pockets. “Still it might be worse.”
Each of them had a jack knife and Kernertok a small hatchet, which he usually carried strapped in his belt. The boys had their automatics, but all the ammunition save what was in the guns was lost. Bob had a water-proof match-safe containing a dozen matches and Jack found a short fish line and three hooks. That was all that they felt would be of any help to them.
“Well, if Jack Knowles could live six weeks in the Maine woods with absolutely nothing but his bare hands to depend on, I reckon we’ll make out,” Bob declared optimistically.
“It’s a cinch,” Jack agreed.
“Whatever you say goes here,” Rex added.
It was decided that Kernertok should set to work at once repairing the canoe.
“How about paddles?” Rex asked.
“Injun make um,” Kernertok assured him.
“It looks as though there might be some raspberries over there on the other side,” Bob pointed to a small clump of bushes a short distance back from the edge of the river. “If you’ll make a birch bark basket and see if you can find any I’ll see what I can do with this fish line.”
“Righto.”
“And what am I to do?” Jack asked.
“You lay right where you are for the present,” Bob commanded.
In spite of his protests that he was all right, neither Bob or Rex would hear to his attempting to do any work, and after some argument he agreed to wait till he was stronger.
“It’s all bosh though,” he growled, as he leaned back against a tree and threw his arms about Sicum.
Rex went off in search of a birch tree and Bob after cutting a stout alder pole and fastening the line to it, began to dig under a stone, which he turned over, for angle worms. He had nothing but a stick with which to dig and the worms were, as he told himself, scarcer than hens’ teeth. But after nearly a half hour of persistent work he succeeded in getting six small worms.
“Be careful of that line,” Jack cautioned him. “A whole lot depends on it.”
“Don’t I know it,” he grinned, as he started off down the river.
He soon reached a promising looking place and, scrambling on to a large rock, he carefully lowered the hook into the water.
“Hope I don’t hook onto one of Jack’s whales,” he thought. “I’m afraid it would be good-bye line.”
Just then a sharp tug informed him that he had hooked onto something, and he pulled out a trout weighing a little over a pound. Each of the six worms served as well as the first, and in a few minutes he started back with six fish, all about the same size.
“We won’t go to bed hungry to-night at any rate,” he told Jack, as he held up the trout for his inspection. “Although,” he added, “our bill of fare will be pretty limited.”
“Reckon we can stand it,” Jack assured him.
Neither of the others had returned and Bob started to clean the fish. Kernertok returned just as he had finished, carrying birch bark and pitch, and a little later Rex came with nearly two quarts of large raspberries.
“Glad you didn’t get lost, old man,” Bob told him.
“You bet, I kept my eye on that tall tree there,” Rex laughed. “I see you got some fish.”
“Fish and raspberries for supper to-night,” Bob said.
“And enough is as good as a feast,” Rex laughed.
“We’ve got to be mighty sparing of these matches,” Bob said, as he gathered some dry leaves for a fire.
“How are you going to cook without anything to cook with?” Rex asked, after Bob had the fire going.
“If all our problems were as easy as that, I wouldn’t worry a bit,” he replied, piling on more wood. “One thing we aren’t short of and that’s wood.”
Bob found a place near the falls where there was a small amount of clay, and he soon had enough for his purpose.
“Going to make mud pies?” Rex laughed, as he saw him mixing the clay with water.
“Just that,” Bob laughed, as he smeared the clay over the fish until each one was incased in the mud. “We’re going to have trout served a la mud,” he declared.
Waiting until the fire had burned to a good bed of coals he dug a hole in the very center of them and buried the fish in it.
“I’m afraid they won’t be very good though without salt,” Bob said ruefully, as he raked away the coals a little later.
“Injun got salt.”
“You have?”
“Injun never go way in big woods no salt,” and he took from his pocket a small water-tight box. “Get long no have most anything, no get long no salt.”
“You’re right there,” Rex agreed. “Most things taste pretty flat without salt.”
By the time supper was ready Kernertok had the hole in the canoe repaired.
“Your mud pies are a great success, Bob,” Rex declared, after he had taken his first taste of the trout. “I never tasted anything quite so good as these.”
“Hope you won’t get sick of them before we get out of the woods.”
As soon as he had eaten Kernertok announced that he was going to find material out of which he could make paddles.
“There’s no great loss without some gain,” Bob declared, after the Indian had gone.
“What’s the gain?” Jack asked.
“Bet I can guess,” Rex laughed.
“Give you two guesses.”
“Only need one. There are no dishes to wash.”
“Right the first time.”
“Well, I suppose this means the end of this expedition.” Kernertok had not returned and the boys were sitting around the fire.
“What do you mean, end of the expedition?” Bob asked.
“Why, we’ll have to turn back now, won’t we?” Rex asked, with a note of sorrow in his voice.
“Turn back nothing. Have you any idea how long it would take us to paddle back up that river?”
“I didn’t think of that. I suppose it would take us longer to go back than it did to come down.”
“I’ll say it would,” Jack declared.
“What’ll we do then?”
“Unless I’m mistaken, that lake we’re after is not very far from here, and believe me, we’re going to make it if it’s a possible thing, after coming this far. If he’s there he’ll probably have a good stock of provisions and trout and raspberries will get kinder monotonous after a few meals.”
“I sure hope we’ve shaken off that lalapaloosla,” Jack said. “Sure and we’ve got trouble enough without that to help it along.”
“Perhaps we can track it if it comes around again, now that Sicum has got his nerve back,” Rex suggested.
“Mebby,” Bob agreed.
“Do you know it’s the strangest thing about that dog,” Rex said thoughtfully. “Do you suppose that plunge in the water made him forget all about his trouble?”
“Possibly he had gotten the idea in his head that he was old and of no more use and then when he pulled me out it convinced him that he had been mistaken and was as good as ever, all his old spunk returned.”
Just then Kernertok returned, carrying on his shoulder a small spruce tree about ten feet long and four inches through at the larger end.
“No could find cedar,” he said, as he threw the trunk down on the ground. “But spruce she do heap well.”
It was nearly dark, but the fire, which they kept burning brightly, gave a good light and he began work at once hewing out the paddles. Fortunately the little hatchet was sharp, but even so, it was slow work. It was late when at last he pronounced them finished. They were rough, to be sure, but Rex was amazed that they could be made so well with only a knife and a hatchet as tools.
“There’s not much outside of the canoe to watch to-night,” Bob said, after he had praised Kernertok’s skill.
“But that’s a very important article just now,” Jack asserted.
“Sicum him keep watch now him all right.” Kernertok was very positive in his statement.
“Then to make things doubly safe, I move that we make our beds two on each side of the canoe,” Bob suggested.
“Heap good think,” Kernertok grunted.
“Hope the weather stays warm till we get out,” Bob said. “If it should turn cold it would be mighty uncomfortable without blankets, and we’d better make the beds as close to the fire as possible, because it’s not going to be very hot round the edges along toward morning.”
It was nearly twelve o’clock by Rex’s watch, which, as it had a water-proof case, had not stopped, before they were ready for bed.
“It’s a mighty lucky thing that we went over in time to get our clothes dry before night,” Jack declared, as he stretched himself out on his bed of fragrant spruce boughs.
Bob and Rex had dragged onto the fire two good sized logs which they had found near the bank of the river, and Bob declared that they ought to keep it going until morning.
It was still dark when a low growl from the dog made Bob start up wide awake. He could see Sicum by the light of the fire, which still burned, standing a few feet away.
“What is it, boy?” he whispered.
The dog gave another low growl and Bob could see that the hair on his back was bristled. Just then Kernertok, who was on the same side of the canoe, awoke.
“Sicum hears something,” Bob whispered.
The dog paced back and forth, giving vent to low rumbling growls from time to time.
“White boy stay here, watch; Injun go see,” Kernertok whispered, and in another minute without making the slightest sound he was gone.
“Here Sicum,” Bob ordered in a low whisper.
The dog somewhat reluctantly came to his side.
“You stay right here. Remember what happened the last time you left camp alone.”
Bob strained his ears to listen, but except for the roaring of the water as it rushed over the falls, he could hear nothing. He had no way of telling the time, but it seemed to him a long time since the Indian had left, when he noticed that the east was beginning to lighten.
“Wonder why he doesn’t come,” he thought.
Soon it was daylight and Kernertok had not returned. He waited until he judged that another hour had passed and then woke Rex, but was careful not to disturb his brother.
“He needs all the rest he can get,” he told himself.
“S——h; don’t wake Jack,” he whispered, as he placed his hand on Rex’s arm. “Come over here a bit.”
As soon as they were far enough away so that they could talk without disturbing the sleeping boy, Bob told him what had happened.
“I can’t imagine what can be keeping him,” he finished.
“How long did you say he had been gone?”
“I didn’t say, but I should say not less than four hours. You know my watch isn’t going, so I had to guess at the time.”
“Sicum seems mighty uneasy.”
“He knows something’s wrong.”
The dog whined and showed an increasing disposition to take to the woods, but Bob restrained him with a word of command.
“If you’ll get some more of those berries, I’ll hook a few more trout, and if he doesn’t come by the time we’ve had breakfast we’ll have to go after him.”
They called Jack as soon as breakfast was ready.
“What’s the big idea?” he asked, sitting up and rubbing his eyes.
“We thought you needed to sleep,” Rex replied.
“Well, I want it distinctly understood from now on that I’m no invalid and don’t want to be treated like one. Where’s Kernertok?”
“I wish we knew,” Bob replied, and then told him of the happening in the night.
“Did you look to see if there are any more of those tracks?”
“No; I never thought of it to tell the truth.”
“Then let’s go see.”
As they reached the sandy spot, there, close to the water’s edge, were three of the imprints.
“Just as I expected,” Jack declared.
“Well, let’s get breakfast over with and if he hasn’t shown up by that time we’ll start out after him,” Bob said, as he turned back.
Breakfast was quickly cooked and eaten. Still there was no sign of the Indian.
“Suppose he has got lost!” Rex asked.
“Kernertok lost! You couldn’t lose that Indian in the State of Maine if you should blindfold him, let me tell you that,” Jack replied.
“Jack’s right about that,” Bob declared. “Kernertok knows the country up this way about as well as any man living, I reckon. No; it’s not a question of him being lost.”
“What then?”
“That’s it. What then?” Bob repeated. “But come on, let’s not lose any time. Here Sicum.”
After some argument and a good deal of objection on the part of Jack, who insisted that he was as strong as ever, it was decided that Bob and Rex should take up the search while Jack remained to guard the canoe.
“Now don’t you go too fast, boy,” Bob said to the dog, as he told him to go find Injun.
Sicum started off with a yelp of joy, and in spite of Bob’s warning, they had hard work to keep him in sight or hearing.
“Wish I’d had a leash to put on him,” Bob panted, as he called the dog back for the twentieth time.
Their course led them straight back from the river into the forest, and before they had gone far the ground began to rise, and the going became more and more difficult as they advanced.
“Does this hill have any top, I wonder?” Rex panted, as he pulled himself up by a bush. “I really believe we’ll be up in the clouds before long if we keep on going.”
It was nearly two hours since they had left Jack, and they were still climbing, when they heard the dog a few yards ahead give voice to a bark which Bob was quick to interpret.
“He’s found him,” he cried, as he hurried on closely followed by Rex.
A moment later they reached the spot where the dog was jumping frantically about, and, for the moment, they could scarcely believe their eyes. There, securely tied to a small spruce tree was the Indian. Over his head was a meal sack.
“Of all things!” Bob gasped, as he sprang forward. “Kernertok!”
But the old man made no reply, and Bob’s heart nearly stopped beating, as the fear came to him that his old friend was past help.
In an instant he had snatched the bag from his head. The old man’s eyes were closed and his head drooped low on his chest. Anxiously Bob placed his ear over his heart. To his joy he could hear the heart beats steady and fairly strong.
“He must have fainted,” he told Rex. “Here, you hold him, while I cut the ropes.”
In another moment the old Indian was lying on the ground, while Bob and Rex chafed his wrists. Presently his eyes opened.
“Don’t talk,” Bob cautioned. “Just lie still and rest. You’ll be all right in a minute.”
“Back heap sore,” he groaned.
They carefully turned him over onto his side and pulled up his shirt.
“Well-what-do-you-know-about-that?” Rex gasped.