“What’s all that?” he demanded quickly; “was it the work of some mean feller, after all? Hey, is that the way your old Cale Martin gets in his work, sneakin’ up in the dead of night, when we’re all sleepin’ as innocent as the babes in the woods, and snatchin’ off our covers before you could wink an eye, or say Jack Robinson? Well, I like his nerve, that’s what; and he’d better look out how he keeps on tryin’ tricks on travelers. Say, he switched our tent, too!” and Bumpus gave a whistle, as well as his trembling lips would allow, to emphasize his disgust.
“You can thank your lucky stars old fellow,” said Allan, “that he didn’t plant one of his hoofs square on your stomach.”
“Hoofs!” echoed Bumpus, aghast; “say, then it wasn’t that old poacher after all, was it? Hoofs? That must mean it was an animal. Looky here, somebody get the fire started again, so we won’t shake to pieces while we’re hunting our clothes, and listening to the explanation of this latest outrage.”
“Oh! let Davy do it,” said Giraffe; “I’m nearly frozen stiff myself right now; and besides,” he added as a brilliant after-thought, “you know I don’t carry matches with me any more. And of course you wouldn’t want to wait while I swung my little bow.”
“Where’s my left shoe?” shouted Step Hen just then; for there never was a time when he could find all his belongings; and in a case of excitement like this it was a certainty that his customary complaint would soon be heard in the land. “Who’s gone and took my left shoe? I’m dead certain I had both of ’em when I started to crawl under the canvas. Somebody thinks it smart to keep playin’ jokes on me all the time. Why can’t they let my things be, Thad?”
“What’s that sticking out of the pocket of your coat?” asked Allan, as Davy managed to strike a match, and apply the fire to the only lantern they carried with them on the trip.
“Why, whoever stuck that in there?” Step Hen went on, unblushingly. “Thinks it smart to do such silly things, and have me guessing all the time. Just switch off, and try it on one of the others, won’t you?”
Knowing that he must have undoubtedly placed the shoe in that pocket himself in the haste of his departure from the tent that remained, Step Hen did not dare accuse any one in particular; but glared around at vacancy when thus addressing his supposed-to-be enemy.
But they were so accustomed to his failings by now that no one paid much attention to what he was saying. In fact, it would have been a cause for astonishment if twenty-four hours ever slipped past without an outburst from Step Hen in connection with some of his personal belongings, that seemed to have taken wings in the most mysterious fashion, and vanished, although they always turned up again.
“But what sort of an animal was it, Thad?” asked Bumpus, still dancing about, and slapping himself in every conceivable place in order to keep his blood in circulation.