"He's a fine chap," explained the Scot. "There's no' a single thing that he canna do (according to the leemitations o' Nature) except speak. And even that he manages to do in his ain way. Noo, come here, Bannock, and lie down while oor freends spin us their yarn. They've no' told us yet who they are, where they come frae, nor where they're going."
"That's a yarn that's quickly told," remarked Bob. The half-breed by this time had returned from the tent with generous supplies of cold deer, damper, and wild berries, after serving which he placed a pan on the fire in preparation for coffee. "It's a yarn that won't take long in the telling, though, if you'll excuse me, I'll eat while I speak."
"Eat awa'," assented the other, while he lit a corn-cob pipe to satisfy his own immediate wants. "There's plenty mair where that came frae, and the coffee will soon be ready!"
Arnold then launched into a brief recital of his and his chum's adventures, beginning with the departure of their fathers on the previous morning, and concluding—
"So all this afternoon we've been wandering about trying to find a path back to our camp, so as to start afresh by the river course. But it was no use."
"And we might have been wandering still if it had not been for a strange accident that led us here," added Alf, at which remark Mackintosh questioned—
"And what might that be? The soond o' Haggis's nightingale voice?"
"No—at least, not in the first place. We heard that later. What first started us in this direction was a curious sort of light that we discovered on one of the trees. And while we were examining it we noticed that there were other lights on other trees in a straight line with one another. Strange, wasn't it?"
"Very," returned the Scotsman dryly. "Very strange."
"It would be a good thing for a naturalist," said Bob. "I noticed that there was a perfect cloud of moths flying about wherever there was a patch of light. A collector of moths and butterflies would reap a harvest. I suppose you've noticed the lights as well as we?"