[3] A spring.
"We have killed but neenee-sheeb, the duck," replied Dick, holding up one of the victims by the neck, "nor have we seen the trail of game."
"Ah hah," replied Haukemah, politely.
He picked up his paddle. It was the signal to start.
"Drop in astern," said Dick to his companion in English, "it's the light of the evening, and I'm going to troll for a pickerel."
One by one the canoes fell into line. Now, late in the day, the travel was most leisurely. A single strong stroke of the paddle was always succeeded by a pause of contemplation. Nevertheless the light craft skimmed on with almost extraordinary buoyancy, and in silent regularity the wooded points of the river succeeded one another.
Sam busied himself with the trolling-spoon, but as soon as the last canoe was well beyond hearing he burst out:
"Dick, did you notice the Chippewa?"
"No. What?"
"He understands English."