Apparently, the report of the shotgun had alarmed the beast, for he
certainly did not show himself again. Whatever it was, the attractive
smell around the vicinity of the campfire must have drawn him out of the
neighboring swamp, just as it had Black George, earlier in the night.

Both Jerry and Bluff took their turns, and in this way daylight found
them undisturbed. Jerry had left his shotgun at home, and carried a rifle
on this trip. He and Bluff had entered into many an argument because this
new weapon was a six-shot gun; for Jerry had made all manner of fun over
Bluff owning a shotgun built after the same principle, nor could they
settle the dispute, Jerry claiming that it was all right in a rifle, as a
man hunted big game with that, and his life might be in danger; while
with the other weapon he usually only shot birds and inoffensive small
animals; while Bluff declared that what was black for the pot was also
black for the kettle.

Going ashore, soon after getting up, Frank knelt down alongside the log
where he had seen the shadowy figure bound off.

"I say, Jerry!" he presently called out.

"Want me?" asked that worthy, folding up his blanket so that it could
hang and get the breeze, whether they moved on or remained where they
were.

"Yes. Come here. You'll be interested, I think."

Jerry quickly reached his side.