He put his fingers to his mouth and whistled shrilly. At once there was an answering caw from the distant hemlocks, and Mike appeared winging his way toward them but, with the canny wisdom which had earned him his name, giving the cabin a wide berth. He dropped down to Pat’s shoulder at once, where he jabbered in crow talk as if telling Pat all about his joke on the cook, all the time studying Walter with eyes so bright and sharp as to make the boy almost uncomfortable.
Without further delay they started for Woodcraft, the crow riding on Pat’s shoulder or occasionally flying a short distance ahead. At the edge of the woods Pat sat down to wait while Walter hurried ahead. Hunting through his ditty bag he found a bright brass button and hurried over to the office. Fortunately no one was about. Putting the button on the sill where the pin had been left the morning of its disappearance he slipped around in front and gave Pat the signal.
Pat came at once, but Mike, distrustful of the camp or perhaps plotting mischief, lingered behind. Pat passed the window and joined Walter in front of the office. Then they cautiously peeped around the corner to watch Mike. As soon as he discovered that Pat was out of sight he quickened his flight and winged his way directly toward the rear of the office. The two boys watching could see him turn his head from side to side as he flew, his bright eyes scanning everything in sight. When he reached a point abreast of and above the window he made an abrupt half circle, dropped down to the sill as silently as a shadow, seized the button and then, mounting high, winged his way in strong swift flight “as straight as the crow flies” for Durant camp.
“The black scoundrel!” murmured Pat. “The black-hearted thafe!”
It was too late for Walter to think of returning to the lumber camp that afternoon, and he had an engagement the next morning at nine.
“Lave it to me,” said Pat. “Oi know ivery hidin’ place av th’ ould thafe, an’ if he shtole the pin ’tis in wan av thim this very minnut. If thot robber took th’ pin, an’ Oi misthrust he did, ’tis Pat Malone that will have it back here by half afther eight to-morrow marnin’.”
After evening mess Walter called Tug and Chip to one side.
“I’ve got a clue,” he announced with pardonable excitement.
“What is it? Who is it?” they demanded as one.
“I’ll tell you to-morrow morning at half-past eight,” replied Walter, and that was all they could get out of him that night.