"I wonder if we can't persuade him to look the other way for a little while," said Victor in a low tone to George.
"It wouldn't make any difference if he did—he would see us just the same; the only thing to do is to appeal to his common sense."
"You try it; he won't pay any attention to me."
"See here," said the shivering lad; "it seems to me, Deerfoot, that since we have already stolen some lumber from that pile, it can't be any harm to steal a little more; you see, with your good sense, that it will be only taking two bites from the same apple."
The Shawanoe looked gravely at his young friends, whom no one understood better than he, and abruptly asked:
"How much do two and two make?"
"As near as I can figure out," interposed Victor, "the answer to that problem is four."
"When we used the wood we thought we had the right to take it; we should pay the owner if we could find him. If we use any of it now it will be a sin, as sure as two and two make four, for we know it belongs to another; it is better to freeze than to steal wood. Deerfoot does not wish to hear his brothers say anything more."
"I suppose he is right," growled Victor, "but doesn't he draw it mighty fine? We may as well prepare to spend one of the worst nights we have had since leaving the Ohio."
The canoe was drawn up the bank and then turned over, so as to shield the property beneath. Then the blankets were spread so that the four lay near one another and thus secured mutual warmth. The region had become familiar to our friends because of their former visit, and they knew that all the natives were friendly. Deerfoot, therefore, said there was no need of mounting guard. They had eaten enough dried salmon to stay the pangs of hunger, though the boys would have relished something warm and more palatable.