The boy was asleep on the bed of boughs. Mr. Binkus covered him with
the blanket and lay down beside him and drew his coat over both.

"He'll learn that it ain't no fun to be a scout," he whispered with a
yawn and in a moment was snoring.

It was black dark when he roused his companion. Solomon had been up
for ten minutes and had got their rations of bread and dried venison
out of his pack and brought a canteen of fresh water.

"The night has been dark. A piece o' charcoal would 'a' made a white
mark on it," said Solomon.

"How do you know it's morning?" the boy asked as he rose, yawning.

"Don't ye hear that leetle bird up in the tree-top?" Solomon answered
in a whisper. "He says it's mornin' jest as plain as a clock in a
steeple an' that it's goin' to be cl'ar. If you'll shove this 'ere
meat an' bread into yer stummick, we'll begin fer to make tracks."

They ate in silence and as he ate Solomon was getting his pack ready
and strapping it on his back and adjusting his powder-horn.

"Ye see it's growin' light," he remarked presently in a whisper. "Keep
clost to me an' go as still as ye kin an' don't speak out loud
never--not if ye want to be sure to keep yer ha'r on yer head."

They started down the foot of the gorge then dim in the night shadows.
Binkus stopped, now and then, to listen for two or three seconds and