For an instant something that looked like a genuine smile flickered across the boy's lips; and his eyes, Mrs. Crane said afterwards, almost twinkled. Then, in a very thin, weak voice, he said: "Please."
After that he again fell into a long, deep sleep. But now his prolonged slumbers were no longer terrifying, for his breathing was natural, his fever entirely gone.
"Can't we see him next time his eyes are open?" pleaded Mabel, waylaying Mrs. Crane in the provision tent, "and couldn't I be the first one? I found him, you know, so he's really mostly mine."
"Ye—es," replied Mrs. Crane, pondering this matter. "I guess it's only fair that you should be the first. If you'll stay where you can see the door of my tent, I'll wave a towel when the time comes. But it won't be right away, for he's just gone to sleep again."
"That boat ought to get here to-day," said Mr. Black, who had been expectantly gazing from time to time at the lake, "but I suppose that rascal Dave stopped all along the way to set traps."
Mr. Black was quite right. Dave had stopped to set traps. But first of all, with characteristic stealth, the conscienceless half-breed had begun his journey with a comfortable nap. For almost two hours, within five minutes' walk of Pete's Patch, Dave had slumbered, with no thought of anything but his own comfort. After that, he attended leisurely to the numerous traps along his almost invisible trail. Fortunately—or he might never have reached his destination, he found only a solitary muskrat. The big rat was still living. Dave eyed him reflectively.
"Goo'-by, li'le son," said Dave, liberating the bright-eyed prisoner. "You ees more bodder dan you ees wort', to-day. An' w'at for Ah'm eat moskrat! Me, Ah'm go for eat dose bifsteak, dose pork shop, dose baked bean hon top of Lakeveele. Go home, you son of a moskrat—Ah catch you som' more nex' veek."
The limping rat splashed into the river, and Dave, after one half-regretful glance at the eddying water, at last started briskly along the trail that led to Lakeville.
He spent the night with his cousin on the outskirts of the town, who refreshed him so generously that faithless Dave didn't know, next morning, whether he was headed toward Lakeville or toward camp. So he slept all that day and the next; while his good friend Mabel, at Pete's Patch, made brave efforts to save him from threatened disaster.
Mabel and all the other girls knew that Dave had every reason to fear the game warden. The youthful castaways, who were not very clear as to the duties of game wardens in general, considered them the natural enemies of all hunters and fishermen. Dave had once shown the girls a battered, yellowed newspaper containing a full-length picture of a brawny, khaki-clad game warden arresting a lawless sportsman. The half-breed had said, half laughingly, half seriously: