"Billy must belong to the owl family," was Tad Butler's comment as their guide rode confidently ahead, calling back directions to them.
Behind Lilly rode another and not unimportant member of the party. This was Ichabod. Ichabod was of the color of the night, black. He had been recommended by Major Clowney as a man who would be useful to them. Ichabod was as solemn and dignified as an African tribal chief. In fact, he was an excellent understudy for Stacy Brown when the latter was in his most dignified mood.
Ichabod could cook, could make and break camp and, what was almost as useful, he could handle the hunting dogs, and knew the canebrake fairly well, but Ichabod was afraid of snakes; that was his worst failing. One afraid of snakes had better keep out of the canebrake. The dozen hunting dogs that Lilly had brought with him were in charge of the colored man, who had handled them before and whom the dogs knew and liked.
"File left. Look out that you don't get into the water," called the guide. "Here we are. Make camp."
"I will go cut the firewood," said Tad.
"No, no," objected the guide. "I was speaking to Ichabod. You all remain on your horses until we get the fire going and I have beaten up the camp site."
"Why so?" questioned Butler.
"On account of the reptiles."
"Oh, fudge!" grunted Tad. The other boys laughed and slipped from their saddles.
"I guess you don't know my boys," objected the Professor, who, not to be outdone, descended from his saddle.