"No, he rushed forward—see, here are his tracks, and yonder the remains of the deer he shot. But Eli is not here. Something happened to him. Give me five minutes and I'll tell you what it was," declared the woods boy, soberly.
CHAPTER XIII
BIRDS OF A FEATHER.
When Eli Perkins left the camp on that memorable afternoon with Cuthbert's fine rifle on his shoulder, he did have a card up his sleeve, so to speak.
Not that Eli was not intent on securing game for the pot, and meant to keep an eye out for anything in the shape of a deer that he could bag; for he had long desired to shoot that dandy gun, the envy of his soul, and as yet the opportunity to use it on a gallant stag had not been forthcoming, though he had often carried it forth when the time seemed propitious.
But Eli had been looking around ever since they landed, and it was his settled conviction that the country in that section had all the color of a copper region.
Copper was Eli's little god.
He eternally dreamed of some day finding a ledge of such incredible richness as would make all previous discoveries sink into utter insignificance; and from his delightful share of the profits from the mine he meant to satisfy that yearning for seeing foreign lands; for long had he looked forward to the time to come when he could visit Egypt, Turkey, Russia, Germany and all those countries he had read so much about.