"Well, well," the Scotsman commented at the close, "these are stirring times for you boys. There's no' a bit o' doot aboot that." Then he added seriously: "But I'm thinking we'll no' be able to wait here ower long. We must set oot at once. I ken something o' this Indian legend o' water-spirits, and I ken something o' Indian ways as well. There's evil things that will be doing if we canna stop them."
"Did you find out anything while you were away with Haggis?" questioned Bob.
"A bit. We found the tracks o' boots as well as moccasins, and we followed far enough to learn that they had gone to the Dacotah village. Then we came back to fetch you laddies. And I found four grand specimens for my collection! Real fine they are—such as will make my brither entomologists in Edinburgh open their eyes as big as Duddingston Loch when they see them. But there—I must be daft to be thinkin' o' moths at such a time. See, Haggis! Hurry on wi' the denner! We'll be striking the camp, for we must mak' straight for Pleasant Valley wi'oot delay."
The speaker was all bustle and hurry now, and as the boys followed to render assistance, Bob asked—
"Pleasant Valley? But did you not say that they were at the Dacotah village?"
"Of course I did. But I said were, not are. Did you no' attend to what your freend said—that Red Fox told him that Mighty Hand would leave for Pleasant Valley by another sun? That's the day."
"Oh, I see. Then you mean to go there direct?"
"Exactly. I ken something o' that Pleasant Valley. There's no' a verra pleasant look aboot it noo—a desert o' a place—all crags and sand, wi' just a pickle o' trees. It's a branch arm o' the Athabasca, and has been a torrent at some flood-time—the time that probably started the legend. But there's no' been ony stream flowing there in the recollection o' living man. But"—and the naturalist was predominant for the instant—"there are rare kinds o' hawk moth to be found in that same desert! You'll be seeing the value o' my phosphorus invention before another couple of nights are out."
The boys laughed as the man's enthusiasm came suddenly uppermost, to the exclusion of (to their minds) a subject of more vital importance.
"I do believe, Skipper, that you would sooner capture a rare beetle than be a Napoleon!" laughed Bob, to which the naturalist replied with scorn, as he indicated the lads to take the opposite end of the tent to roll—