Rawlins leaped into the coorial and examined the various articles.
“Now what the dickens do you suppose they left their pistol for?” he cried as he picked up the weapon. “And they were off for a trip too--took grub along and a tent. Hello! Their plane’s done for! Look here! This cloth’s the covering of one of her wings!”
“I’ll he hanged!” exploded Mr. Henderson. “Then they had deserted the machine and were getting off in this canoe. They can’t be far away!”
Rawlins laughed. “I’ll say one of ’em’s a blamed long ways off!” he cried. “But the other chap may be hanging about. Great Scott, he may be watching us from shore now!”
At the diver’s words every one started and glanced at the forest-covered banks as if half expecting to see the leader of the “reds” peering at them from the foliage. Then Sam, who had been holding to the rail of the canoe, leaned over and reaching into the bottom of the craft picked up some object and examined it.
“Tha’s a cur’ous lookin’ feather, Chief,” he remarked, handing his find to Mr. Pauling.
“Hmm, ’tis odd,” agreed the latter. “Guess they must have killed some bird.”
Joseph, who was seated next to Sam, had turned and as he saw the soft, curled black plume his eyes seemed about to pop from his head, his mouth gaped and in a gasping whisper, he exclaimed, “Kenaima!”
“What’s that?” demanded Mr. Thorne, as with one accord every Indian wheeled about and sat staring with frightened eyes at the innocent black feather in Mr. Pauling’s hand. “How you sabby him Kenaima, Joseph?”
“Me sabby too much!” stammered the terrified Indian. “No likeum, must for makeum walk plenty quick this place!”