“We fixed up the camp to look natural and secure, hung our wet clothes to dry on the cheep lahquah-gan,[1] closed the tent-door for the night to keep out the mosquitoes, and retired, not dissatisfied, to our covert.
“It was a dark and almost starless night, with a soft, rainy wind soughing in the pine-tops, and making the ‘Big Squatook’ wash restlessly all down her pebbled beaches. As we drew our weapons close to us, and stretched ourselves luxuriously in our blankets, we could not forbear a low laugh at a certain relish the situation held for us. The professor, however, suddenly became serious; and he declared, ‘But this lark’s in the soberest kind of earnest, anyway; and we mustn’t be letting ourselves tumble to sleep!’
“My shoulder gave an admonitory twinge, and I cordially acquiesced.
“Just then a far-off howl of hideous laughter, ending in a sob of distress, came down the night wind, making our flesh creep uncomfortably.
“‘Is that what the Indians call Gluskâp’s Hunting-dogs?’ whispered the professor.
“‘Not by any means!’ I answered under my breath.
“‘Well, it ought to be,’ returned the professor.
“I replied that the voice, in my opinion, came from the dangerous Northern panther, or ‘Indian devil.’
“These animals, I went on to explain for H——’s comfort, were growing yearly more numerous in the Squatook regions, owing to the fact that the caribou, their favorite prey, were being driven hither from the south counties and from Nova Scotia.
“Just then the cry was repeated, this time a little nearer; and the professor began to inquire whether it was Indian or Indian devil about which we should have most call to concern ourselves. His hope, but half-expressed, was plainly for a ‘whack at both.’