“Looks as though a piece of paper was wrapped about the end,” he declared, as he got to his feet. “There is, too,” he said a moment later, as he tried to pull the arrow from the tree.
So deep had the head of the arrow sunk into the tree that he broke it in pulling it out.
“That’s too bad,” he muttered. “Would have liked to keep that for a keepsake. Only time I ever had an arrow shot at me.”
“What does it say?” Jack asked impatiently.
“Just a minute and I’ll have it off.”
The slip of paper was tied tightly about the shank of the arrow with a short length of waxed thread, and it took him some time to get it off.
“Why it isn’t paper at all,” he declared, as he unwrapped it. “It’s a piece of white birch bark.”
“Any writing on it?” Jack asked impatiently.
“There’s something,” Bob replied as he smoothed the sheet of bark out.
“Well of all things.” Rex, who was peeping over Bob’s shoulders, made the remark.