Kiddie had a profound faith in his deerhound's sagacity, and he was more than a little disappointed that she had not yet discovered his presence in the camp.
He did not again refer to her absence that night, assuming that the hound could hardly have scented him passing in the canoe, or heard him landing so far away from the cabin as Grizzly Notch. But when he went to bed he began to wonder anew. He stood at the open window, listening, hoping to hear her bark. Hearing no sound but the whispering of the wind in the trees, he got his feet on a chair and leant out. He whistled, a long shrill whistle.
Rube Carter was already asleep in the same room. The whistle awoke him.
"What you whistlin' that way for?" Rube asked in alarm. "Shanty ain't afire, is it?"
"I'm whistling for Sheila," Kiddie told him. "Lie quiet while I listen if she answers."
"She won't hear you all this way off," said Rube. "Wind's against you."
"So it is," laughed Kiddie, stepping down from the chair. "Never mind! I shall see her in the morning. Sorry I disturbed you. Good night."
During their camping trip Kiddie and Rube had accustomed themselves to early rising, and on the following morning they were out and about before the rest of the household.
Kiddie looked at some of his letters, and then took his towel and went down to the creek for his morning swim, leaving Rube to help to get the breakfast ready. Kiddie returned looking astonishingly fresh and clean.
At the end of the meal he sat very silent, watching his companions taking out their pipes. He seemed to be particularly interested in Abe Harum, who was feeling in one pocket after another.