"Well, it's a good thing you're here, anyway," said the cook, "for we've been waiting for you to explain a mystery that's puzzled the whole camp. You're a woodsman, you know, and it's up to you to tell us."
"All right," said David with a confident swagger. "Trot out your mystery."
The cook led him to where the tracks were visible in the soil and related to him the theft of the hambone and the bread, concluding with:
"And what we want to know is—what kind of a critter made them tracks?"
David stooped down for a few seconds and looked at the marks on the ground, then turned around to the fellows grouped about him, and said in a tone of scorn:
"You don't know what that is?"
"No, what is it?" responded one of the men.
"Well, you're a pretty lot of lumberjacks not to know a swamp angel's work when you see one."
"Swamp angel?" queried the cook in amazement.
"Swamp angel, of course. Yes, why not? I suppose"—this in a tone of much condescension—"you have heard of a swamp angel?"