within the turn of that gentleman's elbow. Once more good luck attended
his efforts with rod and line, and he got a dozen trout in almost as
many minutes. Larry's nose usually awakened him when it sniffed early
cooking, so now he rolled over to pummel Jack, then up to sing and
whistle through his morning toilet like a schoolboy. Breakfast over,
they struck camp, Fox-Foot taking command in packing the canoe, giving
most rigid instructions as to saving the sacks should there be an upset.
Larry took one long, last look at the wild surroundings. The dense pine
forest, the forbidding rocks, the silver upper reaches of the river
where his fought-for treasure had lain hidden for two years from all
human eyes, unknown to any living man save himself. Then the canoe swung
into midstream for the return voyage, its narrow little bow facing the
south at last.

For many days the taut little craft danced merrily, homeward bound. For
many nights the three voyageurs camped, slept, and dreamed, with only
the laughing loons, the calling herons, the plaintive owls, and distant
fox bark to sweep across their slumbers. But as the days went on, the
Indian boy grew more wary; his glance seemed keener, his ears forever
on the alert; he appeared like a lithe, silent watchdog, holding itself
ready to spring, and snap, and bury its fine white teeth in the throat
of an enemy to its household. His paddle dipped noiselessly, his head
turned rapidly, his eye narrowed dangerously. Larry and Jack saw it all,
but they said nothing, only relieved the Chippewa of all the work they
possibly could, so that, should necessity demand that Fox-Foot must lose
rest and food, he would be well fortified for every tax placed upon
him. Jack took to cooking the meals, as a wild duck takes to the water,
insisting that Fox-Foot rest after paddling, and the Indian accepting
it all without comment, and sleeping at a moment's notice--seemingly
storing it up against future needs. But the evening came when the