The cook grinned at him.
"You're a good one, David, all right," he said. "Go on, tell us about a swamp angel."
"Why, a swamp angel," said David, thinking rapidly, "is a cross between a flying squirrel and a flying fox——"
"With a strain of flying-fish thrown in. Go on, David," interrupted one of the men with a laugh.
"It lives only in the densest kind of swamps," went on David, ignoring the interruption, "and it is called an angel because it can fly so readily. Its chief characteristic is that it crosses its legs while walking, so that the off fore and hind leg track on the nigh side and the near ones on the off. That's what gives the tracks that peculiar look you noticed. Its usual food——"
"Is ham sandwiches," broke in the cook. "No, David, I guess the swamp angel yarn's a little strong. Here comes the chief; we'll see what he says about it."
As soon as Field arrived near the group of men, the cook started in to tell him about the theft of the food, but the chief stopped him.
"To Texas with the hambone," he said; "we've got no time to waste talking about trifles. It's up to us to find that boy without delay. I hold myself to blame in not getting after him sooner, but his last hail, it seemed to me, just before the one I sent you to find him on, was only a few yards from the camp. How, in so short a time, he could have got out of earshot, is a thing I don't understand. I only hope he hasn't put a bullet into himself somewhere with that pesky little gun of his while he was firing all those shots. Get busy at the grub, boys, because if we don't get him by the time it's dark, he may be out all night, and I don't want that."
"He can't be very far away, Mr. Field," said David.
"As long as he's out of reach, it doesn't much matter whether he's near or far. But he must be found, if it takes all night."