Inspiration point was the first camp at which the lads had enjoyed the magnificent panoramic view of the great river and its valley and where they had tasted the joy of roaming about freely through upland forests and fields.

Some camps one finds so attractive that it is hard to break away, and after one has at last rolled up tents and blankets, memory involuntarily returns to the scene.

The lads enjoyed the camp at Inspiration Point so much that they begged Mr. Barker to stay there at least another night.

“I don’t know, boys,” the old man objected mildly. “It may not be so pleasant to-night. I think we are going to have rain.”

“Where can the rain come from?” the boys questioned. “There isn’t a cloud in the sky.”

“Not yet,” the old trapper admitted, “but clouds will come soon enough. I sort of feel and smell rain in the air.”

The boys laughed, “Ah, you’re just fooling us,” they insisted. “You can’t smell rain like you smell flowers or skunks.”

They ran over to Tatanka who, leaning against an old oak, was gazing down the valley where a large, high, rocky island arose like a flat-topped mountain.

“I climbed to an eagle’s nest on that mountain when I was a boy,” he told the lads. “The eagle was the totem of our village. I brought down a big young eagle and the other boys and I caught fish for him and he grew very tame. When he grew older and could fly well he flew away, but he often came back and sat on our tepee poles.”

“Tatanka,” the boys questioned, “is it going to rain to-night? Mr. Barker says he can feel and smell rain. Do you believe he can smell rain?”

Tatanka smiled and gazed into the hazy distance. “Yes, I think it will rain,” he answered, “after a while.”

“Can you smell it?” the lads asked eagerly.

“May be I can smell it, may be I can feel it. White trappers and Indians can smell many things other people can’t smell.”

“We can smell deer and buffalo and porcupines. I can smell the river now.”

“Yes, I think it will rain to-night. And may be there will be thunder and lightning.”

The boys ran back to the trapper.

“Mr. Barker,” they argued, “our lean-to will shed the rain if we pile on some oak brush with the leaves still on it.”

“That lean-to,” the old man laughed, “will leak like a sieve. In five minutes the wind will shake your ears full of big cold drops, and you wouldn’t sleep a wink all night.

“You fellows can stay here overnight, but I reckon Tatanka and I will go down to the boat and set up our tent. I don’t care to sit up all night in the rain. I have done that often enough.”

But after a little more coaxing, the old man consented to stay another night on the point.

“Now I tell you what you can do,” he suggested to his young friends. “You gather a lot of bark, big pieces, of oak or basswood, anything you can find, and we’ll put a roof on our shed.”

“But the bark doesn’t peel yet,” Tim objected.

“No, no, I don’t mean green bark. Get big pieces of bark from the old dead trees. That will do well enough for one night.”

The boys soon had a stock of dead bark piled up.

“Looks as if you were going to start a tannery,” remarked the trapper.

“Now go and find a lot of strings so we can tie it on.”

“Where can we find strings!” the boys wanted to know.

“You go and ask Tatanka. He can find them.”

Tatanka was not troubled about finding strings. Some he made by shaving the bark off young shoots of basswood. Others he found by twisting the fiber of dead Indian hemp and wild nettle into strong cords.

“The woods are full of good ropes,” he murmured, “but white men don’t know how to find them and make them. They can only buy them in the stores.”

The boys were going to tie the bark crosswise; but the trapper would not have it that way.

“Tie them running up and down,” he said. “Alternate them with rough side up and smooth side up, so they overlap, making a lot of little troughs running to the ground. Then tie them to three strong poles fastened crosswise over the lean-to.

“There! It is a rough-looking shelter. Not nearly so neat as a Chippewa bark-house, but it ought to shed the rain if the wind doesn’t blow it over and if the wind doesn’t come from the wrong side.

“Now get some wood, boys. Tim, you gather a lot of dry sticks for our cooking fire. Bill, you cut some green birches for the camp-fire. Tatanka and I will cut some green oaks for back logs.”

“Mr. Barker, why can’t I gather dry branches for the camp-fire? There are plenty of them lying around,” Tim asked eagerly.

“You may, Tim,” the old man replied good-naturedly, “but you will have to sit up all ............