plenty of meat in the ragged coon-skin ammunition pouch which hung
beside it, fastened that to his belt, slipped on his coat, and started
off, with the "ole fuzzee" on his shoulder.

Never a sound did he make as he crossed the clearing, passing the clump
of bushes behind which Cyrus and Neal had lingered on the previous night
to hear Uncle Eb's song. Owing to his Indian footwear, silently as the
gliding redskin himself he entered the woods at a point where he saw a
tree with a fresh notch carved in it. He knew this marked the beginning
of the "blazed trail," and that he must be very wide-awake and show
considerable "gumption" if he wanted to follow that line to the pond.

Not every tree was spotted. Only at intervals of fifteen or twenty yards
he came upon a trunk with two small pieces chopped out of it on opposite
sides. These were Uncle Eb's way-marks. One set of notches would catch
his eye as he went towards the water, the other would lead him back to
camp. Once or twice Dol got away from the trail, but he quickly found it
again; and in due time emerged from the forest twilight into the broad
glare of the sun, to see Squaw Pond lying before him like a miniature
mother-of-pearl sea, so protected by its evergreen woods that scarcely a
ripple stirred it.

He heard the shrill, wild call of a loon, the noisy bird to which Cyrus
had likened him, and saw its white breast rising above the water, as it
swam about among the reeds near the opposite bank. The cry was oft
repeated, making an unearthly din, now joyous, now dreary, among the
echoes around the lake.

Dol paused for a minute to listen; but he was bent on business, and did
not want to be very long away from camp lest his absence should cause