"Will you give me your chewin' gum?"
"No."
"Will you lend it to me?"
"Yep."
"Well, there's your old arrow," said Guy, pulling it from between the logs where it had fallen. "I seen it go there an' reckoned I'd lay low an' watch the progress of events, as Yan says," and Guy whinnied.
Early in the morning the Indians in war-paint went off on a prowl. They carried their bows and arrows, of course, and were fully alert, studying the trail at intervals and listening for "signs of the enemy."
Their moccasined feet gave forth no sound, and their keen eyes took in every leaf that stirred as their sinewy forms glided among the huge trunks of the primeval vegetation—at least, Yan's note-book said they did. They certainly went with very little noise, but they disturbed a small Hawk that flew from a Balsam-fir—a "Fire tree" they now called it, since they had discovered the wonderful properties of the [234] wood.
Three arrows were shot after it and no harm done. Yan then looked into the tree and exclaimed:
"A nest."