It was only to be expected that Bob was not fit for much exertion after his experience with the muskeg, and it was Skipper Mackintosh's decision on returning to camp that the boy should proceed no farther that night.
"But that will be a longer time before we get on the track of our fathers," protested Arnold, to whom the thought of inactivity for even twelve hours was irksome.
"Better to bide quiet for a night at present than be laid up for days later on," was the Scotsman's response. "But you can set your mind easy-like. The time will no' be lost, for Haggis and me will set oot on a wee scouting expedition to the place where we found yon hanky. We'll be back by midnight."
This plan was a relief to the boys' minds, for though it entailed a certain delay in the forward[Pg 151] journey, the result of the scouting might curtail matters in the long-run. Mackintosh's report might enable them to make more definite plans than were possible at present.
So, after a few preparations for the journey, the two men set off, accompanied by the faithful Bannock, early in the afternoon.
"Don't you go and disappear like the others did!" laughed Holden, to which the "ceevilised" Haggis replied—
"Fox lose trail in bush easier than me!"
It was a hot afternoon, so, when the boys had watched their friends disappear in the forest, Bob decided that it would be a good opportunity to wash the mud and slime from his clothes, as they would soon dry in the sun.
No sooner said than done. The soiled garments were stripped (for of course the lads were reduced to one suit apiece) and the stream utilised as a washing-tub, after which Bob was obliged to sit in his suit of Nature while the clothes of Art were drying upon handy branches.
As we said, the day was hot, and, as the grassy slope upon which the boys sat formed the margin of a clear pool where the stream widened, it was[Pg 152] not to be expected that the period of idle ease would be prolonged.
"Ah!" Bob suddenly exclaimed, as he sat up and regarded the water with covetous eyes, "the temptation is too much for me. I'm going to have a dip."
"It certainly looks more tempting than your plunge into mud. A pleasant change, I should say," remarked Alf chaffingly. Then he added merrily: "But are you sure that you can stand it? It won't do to exert yourself too much yet. Old Mackintosh expects you to rest."
"That's all right. I shan't muck about very much. I can take it easy. As a matter of fact, I am sure that a plunge will buck me up."
"All serene," returned the younger boy, rising to prepare himself for a bathe. "So long as you don't think that it will do you any harm, I'm ready."
A short run, and then Bob had entered the water in the clean-cut style of a practised diver.
"It's glorious!" he called to his chum, who was almost ready to follow his leader. "I should think that it is quite eight feet in the middle, so you can plunge safely."
"Right. Clear out of the way!" was the[Pg 153] response, and in a second more Holden in his turn cleft the sparkling water.
Those of our readers who are only familiar with the cheerless sea or even the placid river-bathing of England can have no idea of the charm that is found in emulating the fishes in the cool depths of a Western forest stream.
Imagine the great trunks of cedar and pine and the gnarled giants of maples spreading their great arms—shutting off the distance with a surrounding barrier of dense colour; imagine the red willows dipping their heads in the margin of the bowl, gaily coloured birds skimming the surface in pursuit of insects, and gaudy butterflies sometimes touching your cheek, like a piece of down borne upon the mellow air. At such a time, in such a place, you feel yourself to be but a tiny little speck in the centre of the world of Nature. You feel as free as a savage. If you are not happy, it must be that you are a weakling boy who lacks the real boy's love for out-of-door freedom.
These were some of the sensations that our young heroes experienced as they splashed about in the crystal pool. Probably they did not realise the details as I have described them; but that[Pg 154] was the effect, all the same. It is the glorious sense of freedom that everybody feels if they have the "backwoods spirit." It cannot be properly described, but I can smell the atmosphere of it all, even though I am now sitting in an English room in an English county. And so intent were the boys on the enjoyment of the moment that they did not observe the figure of an Indian who crept out of the bush near by while they were experimenting in various positions for swimming.
The Indian paused for a few moments. Then, seeing the attention of the lads was devoted to their amusement, he crept to the tent like a snake in the long grass. This he examined thoroughly, and he gave a grunt of satisfaction as he discovered the pack-horse picketed near by. After this, seeing no necessity for further secrecy of movement, he boldly walked to the edge of the pool where the boys were bathing, and sat down quietly to watch their play.
It was Alf who was the first to discover the stranger. "I say! There's an Indian!" he exclaimed.
"Where?" questioned Bob, who had swum a little way out of sight beyond a curve in the creek.[Pg 155]
"Over there—beside our clothes. But, I say, what a horrible face he has got! He looks as if a lion had started to chew him and changed his mind! He's the ugliest-looking freak I ever saw."
Taking for granted that the Indian would not understand the uncomplimentary remarks, Holden swam towards the side of the pool, being quickly followed by his chum. But the Indian had understood. He was as familiar with colloquial English as he was with his own tongue. Nevertheless, he did not alter the grin on his face, though there was something very different from a grin at his heart—a something which (if the rash speaker had only known it) had suddenly determined him to carry out his contract in quite a different manner from that which had been arranged with Thunder-maker.
An Indian is a queer creature at the best. He loves as quickly and impulsively as he hates, while devotion may be turned into detestation as rapidly as a vessel of clear water is discoloured by a drop of ink. Red Fox's eyes flashed fire towards the imprudent lad, though his lips still smiled, and anyone who was a judge of Indian character would have understood from that look that it would be an ill moment for Alf if ever it[Pg 156] was within the power of the redskin to repay the insulting expressions.
By this time both lads had reached the shore, whereupon Bob addressed the stranger while the pair proceeded to dress—Arnold's clothes being dry by this time.
"Well, where have you come from?" the boy questioned.
"Trail long. Red Fox come over prairie—bush—far—far——"
"Oh, you understand English?" exclaimed Alf, at the same time hoping that the Indian had not heard enough, or understood English well enough, to comprehend the recent criticisms as to his personal appearance.
The redskin nodded, though he craftily pretended that his knowledge of the foreign tongue was but scanty.
"Red Fox know little—very little. He speak—he no' understand all that ears tell him."
"And a jolly good job, too," commented Alf to his friend. "He's a hideous monster, but I shouldn't like to hurt his feelings by letting him know my opinion."
"I don't think that I would express it too freely, if I were you," said Bob, who had quickly[Pg 157] resumed his everyday attire. "You never can tell how much fellows like that understand. I remember............