“Do you expect the dog to fetch him out?” inquired Norman.
“No,” replied Basil; “only to help.”
“How?”
“Wait a moment—you shall see.”
Basil flung down his 'coon-skin cap, and stripped off his caribou jacket, then his striped cotton shirt, then his under-shirt of fawn skin, and, lastly, his trousers, leggings, and mocassins. He was now as naked as Adam.
“I'll show you, cousin,” said he, addressing himself to Norman, “how we take the water down there on the Mississippi.”
So saying, he stepped forward to the edge of the bluff; and having carefully noted the spot where the wolverene had gone down, turned to the dog, and simply said,—
“Ho! Marengo! Chez moi!”
The dog answered with a whimper, and a look of intelligence which showed that he understood his master's wish.
Basil again pointed to the lake, raised his arms over his head, placing his palms close together, launched himself out into the air, and shot down head-foremost into the water.