to the middle of October; but they don't last. So much the better for
us! We don't want sizzling days and oppressive nights, with mosquitoes
and black flies to make us miserable. October in this country is the
camper's ideal--month"--

The last sentence was broken by a great yawn, followed presently by a
snort and an attempt at a shout, which quavered away into a queer little
whine. Garst had passed into dreamland, where men revel in fragmentary
memories and pell-mell visions.




CHAPTER VI.

AFTER BLACK DUCKS.


If Cyrus's dreams were ruffled after the morning's excitement, those of
his comrades were a perfect chaos.

A slight wind hummed wordless songs through the tasselled tops of the
pine-trees about the camp. The music was tender and drowsy as a mother's
lullaby. Contrary to their expectations, Neal and Dol were lulled to
sleep by it like babies, with a feeling as if some guardian spirit were
gliding among the tree-tops.

But when slumber held them, when the murmur increased to a surge of
sound, sank to a ripple and again rolled forth, in their dreams they
imagined it the scurrying of a deer's hoofs along some lonely forest