AT daybreak the next morning the barking of a dog wakened the sleeping camp. Mr. Black pulled on his clothes and went sleepily down to the water's edge, where Onota, Dave's yellow dog, was running madly about, uttering excited yelps.
"Heem glad for got home," explained Dave, who had beached his canoe and was gathering up its contents.
"What have you got?" asked Mr. Black.
Dave displayed a small doe, not yet skinned.
"Dose bigges' one—som' beeg buck, Ah'm t'ink—she ees bus' up ma trap," Dave complained, "so Ah'm snare dose li'le doe. He ees good meat, all right."
"Dave, you scalawag, you ought to be in jail. I'll wager there isn't a game law that you haven't broken."
"He ees mos' all for you," assured Dave, ingratiatingly. "You got fine dinner off heem ver' soon—I skeen heem for you, bam-bye. She's good meat, dose young-lady deer."
"I ought to tell the game warden on you. Don't you know that you're breaking game laws?"
"Ah'm t'ink maybe Ah'm crack dose law som'," admitted Dave; "but me, Ah mus' eat li'le deer meat som' tam', halso dose partridge, maybe som' duck, too."
"Well," warned Mr. Black, helplessly, "don't expect me to help you out if you get caught. And now, Dave, I wish you'd stay right here for awhile; I've got a job for you. I want you to go to Lakeville to-day—we've a sick boy up there and we need a doctor."