But they dropped off at last and slept soundly till the sun was strong on the canvas and filling the teepee with a blaze of transmitted light.
"Woodpecker! Woodpecker! Get up! Get up! Hi-e-yo! Hi-e-yo! Double-u-double-o-d-bang-fizz- whackety-whack-y-r-chuck-brrrrrrrrrrrrrrr-Woodpecker," shouted Yan to his sleepy chum, quoting a phrase that Sam when a child had been taught as the true spelling of his nickname.
Sam woke slowly, but knowing perfectly where he was, and drawled:
"Get up yourself. You're cook to-day, an' I'll take my breakfast in bed. Seems like my knee is broke out again."
"Oh, get up, and let's have a swim before breakfast."
"No, thank you, I'm too busy just now; 'sides, it's both cold and wet in that pond, this time o' day."
The morning was fresh and bright; many birds were singing, although it was July, a Red-eyed Vireo and a Robin were in full song; and as Yan rose to get the breakfast he wondered why he had been haunted by such strange feelings the night before. It was incomprehensible now. He wished that appalling wail in the tree-tops would sound again, so he might trace it home.
[268] There still were some live coals in the ashes, and in a few minutes he had a blazing fire, with the pot boiling for coffee, and the bacon in the fryer singing sweetest music for the hungry.
Sam lay on his back watching his companion and making critical remarks.
"You may be an A1 cook—at least, I hope you are, but you don't know much about fire-wood," said he. "Now look at that," as one huge spark after another exploded from the fire and dropped on the bed and the teepee cover.