He slipped into the blackness of the forest and presently hit the Durant trail. For the most part his thoughts were as black as the shadows around him.
“Thafe, is ut?” he muttered to himself. “Oi guess ut ain’t healthy fer the loikes av me around thot camp. What roight have th’ loikes av thim ter be callin’ me a thafe jist because Oi’m poor an’ live in the woods? What roight have they to be callin’ me a thafe, an’ me wid no chance ter say a wurrd? What show’s a bye loike me got, anyway? Whin thot Walt bye licked me he said Oi ought ter be a Bye Scout, an’ Oi’d begun ter think ut must be somethin’ foine. But if this is the way they be afther doin’, callin’ a bye a thafe widout him iver knowin’ what’s been shtole, Oi want nothin’ ter do at all, at all wid Bye Scouts. Oi wonder what thot honor bus’ness is thot Walt bye talked so much about. Oi’ll pump thot bye wid his pockets full av rocks an’ see what he knows about ut.”
Abruptly his thoughts reverted to the fishing pact he had overheard and slowly a grin crept among the freckles. “Goin’ ter bate Harrison, be yez?” He slipped a hand into a pants pocket and clinked some loose change there. “Oi wonder now, have yez got the price? Oi guess yez don’t know what yez be up aginst. Jist the same Oi’d loike thot Walt bye ter win out.”
A sudden thought struck him. “Oi wonder now wud he——” He took a silver dollar from his pocket and held it up so that a ray from the rising moon was thrown up from it in a bright gleam. “No,” he said, “no, Oi don’t belave he wud, though why not Oi don’t see at all, at all.”
He rapidly strode forward to the bunkhouse, and for once forgot to play a good-night trick on the long-suffering cook.
The moon crept higher and higher. It filtered through the great forest and touched the white birches with ghostly gleam. It looked down upon a thousand tragedies among the little people of the night. It bathed the two camps in silvery light, and all unconscious of the greater tragedy in the hearts of men, it caressed into points of living flame the tiny diamonds in Mother Merriam’s pin.
But there was no one there to see, and for a few hours even the specter in the wigwams slept.
CHAPTER VII
FIRST LESSONS
Walter’s skill with his camera gradually won for him the distinction of being the best photographer in camp. When, therefore, he somewhat diffidently told Chief Woodhull of his ambition to secure some flashlight views of deer the chief listened attentively to the plans suggested for securing them, and promised to lay them before Dr. Merriam. Imagine Walter’s delight when on the following day the big chief sent for him, and after close questioning informed him that it was arranged for him to make a two days’ trip to Lonesome Pond with Big Jim for the purpose of trying for the coveted photographs of wild deer in their native haunts.