“As H—— concluded, Pete grunted in astonishment and admiration. Indeed, these expressive grunts of his had furnished a running fire of comment throughout the narrative. For myself, I fetched a deep breath, got up, and went over to embrace Dan. As I rose, I cast my eyes up the mountain, and exclaimed,—.
“‘Talk of angels and you’ll see their wings, eh? Look there!’ H—— and Pete followed my gaze. Far up, in the whiteness of the moonlight, we saw a stealthy form creep across a surface of bare rock. Dan saw it too, and every muscle became rigid.
“The form disappeared in a thick covert, and a moment later there issued again upon the stillness that strange, blood-curdling cry. It sounded like a challenge to the hero of H——’s story.
“But the challenge went unheeded. H—— ordered Dan into the tent. In a few minutes we were wrapped in our blankets, and the panthers had the wilderness all to themselves.”
“What became of Dan at last?” inquired Sam.
“Poisoned three years ago; but I made the brutes that did it smart for it!” said I, shutting my teeth with a snap.
“Hanging would have been none too bad for them!” growled Stranion. From this the talk wandered to dogs in general; and each man, of course, sang the praises of his own, till presently Stranion cried, “Douse the glim!” and we rolled into our blankets.
CHAPTER VII.
THE CAMP ON THE TOLEDI.
In the morning we set out at a reasonable hour, planning to camp that night at the foot of Toledi Lake. The last few miles of the Squatook River were easy paddling, save that here and there a fallen tree was in the way. In passing these obstructions Stranion proved unlucky. His canoe led the procession, with himself standing erect, alert, pole in hand, in the stern, while Queerman sat lazily in the bow. At length we saw ahead of us a tree-trunk stretching across the channel. By ducking our heads down to the gunwales there was room to pass under it. But Stranion tried a piece of gymnastics, like a circus-rider jumping through a hoop. He attempted to step over the trunk while the canoe was passing under it. In this he partly succeeded. He got one foot over, according to calculation, and landed it safely in the canoe. But as for the other—well, a malicious little projecting branch took hold of it by the moccasin, and held on with the innate pertinacity of inanimate things. The canoe wouldn’t wait, so Stranion remained behind with his captive foot. He dropped head-first into the water, whence we rescued him.
The next time we came to an obstruction of this kind Stranion didn’t try to step over it. He stooped to go under it. But another malicious branch now came to the front. The branch was long, strong, and sharp. It reached down, seized the back of Stranion’s shirt, and almost dragged him out of the canoe. Failing in this,—for Stranion’s blood was up,—it ripped the shirt open, and ploughed a long red furrow down his back. It took an ocean of glycerine and arnica to assuage that wound.