"No luck and no buck to-night!" answered Garst. "But don't roast us,
Uncle Eb. Get us something to eat quicker than lightning or we'll go for
you--at least we would if we weren't entirely played out. It isn't
everybody who can manage a hard shot as cleverly as you do, when he can
only see the eyes of an animal. And that was the one chance we got."

No man living ever heard a further word from Cyrus as to how his English
friend bore the scares of a first night's jacking.

"Ya-as, dat's a ticklish shot. Most folks is skeered o' trying it,"
drawled out Ebenezer Grout, a professional guide as well as "colored
gen'leman," familiarly called by visitors to this region who hired the
use of his hut and his services, "Uncle Eb."

"There's some comfort for you," whispered Cyrus slyly into Neal's ear.
Aloud he said, addressing the guide, "We had a spill-out, too, as a
crown-all. I'm mighty glad that this is the second of October, not
November, and that the weather is as warm as summer; otherwise we'd be
in a pretty bad way from chill. I feel shivery. Hurry up, and get us
some steaming hot coffee and flapjacks, Uncle Eb, while we fling off
these wet clothes. The trouble is we haven't got any dry ones."

"Hain't got no oder suits?" queried the woodsman. "Den go 'long, boys,
and rig yerselves up in yer blankets. Ye can pertend to be Injuns fer
to-night. Like enough dis ain't de worst shift ye'll have to make 'fore
ye get out o' dese parts."

As the draggled pair were making towards the hut, which stood about six
feet from the fire, to follow his advice, its bark door was suddenly
pushed wide open. Forth stepped, or rather staggered, another boy,