Then Levi’s advice carried weight.
“We ain’t goin’ to ’scape him,” he said, “by startin’ out o’ the woods now. Most likely he’s got his eye on us this minute. He knows every rod o’ the way out whar we’d be likely to camp. He’d sure follow, an’ if he didn’t cut our canoes to pieces some night, he’d watch his chance ’n’ grab the gal ’n’ make off under cover o’ darkness. We’ve got a sort o’ human panther to figger on, an’ shootin’ under such conditions might mean killin’ the gal. We’ve got to go out sometime, but I don’t believe in turnin’ tail fust go-off, ’n’ we may get a chance to wing the cuss, like ez not,” and the glitter in Levi’s eyes showed he would not hesitate to shoot this half-breed if the chance presented itself.
Old Cy’s opinion is also worth quoting:–“My notion is this hyena’s a coward, ’n’ like all sich’ll never show himself by daylight. He knows we’ve got guns ’n’ know how to use ’em. The camp’s as good as a fort. One on us kin allus be on guard daytimes, an’ when it’s time to go out–wal, I think we ought to hev cunnin’ ’nuff ’mongst us to gin one hyena the slip. Thar’s one thing must be done, though, ’n’ that is, keep the gal clus. ’Twon’t do to let her go over the hog-back arter berries, or canoein’ round the lake no more.”
And now began a state of semi-siege at Birch Camp.
Chip was kept an almost prisoner, hardly ever permitted out of Angie’s sight. One of the men, always with rifle handy, remained on guard–usually Old Cy, and for a few nights he lay in ambush near the shore, to see if perchance this enemy would steal up again.
With all these precautions against surprise, came a certain feeling of defiance in Martin. With Ray for companion he went fishing once more, and with Levi as pilot he cruised about for game.
Only a few more weeks of his outing remained, and on sober second thought, he didn’t mean to let this sneaking enemy spoil those.
But Old Cy never relaxed his vigil. This waif of the wilderness and her pitiful position appealed to him even more than to Angie, and true to the nature that had made all Greenvale’s children love him, so now did Chip find him a kind and protecting father.
With rifle always with him, he took her canoeing and fishing; sometimes Angie joined them, and so life at Birch Camp became pleasant once more.
A week or more of happiness was passed, with no sight or sign of their enemy, and then one morning when Old Cy had journeyed over to the ice-house, he glanced across the lake to a narrow valley through which a stream known as Beaver Brook reached the lake, and far up this vale, rising above the dense woods, was a faint column of smoke.