CHAPTER III

THE CAMP ON THE LAKE SHORE


"Why, it's only a big owl!" shouted Giraffe.

"Hey, Davy, shake hands with your yellow-eyed panther!" roared Step Hen.

Bumpus snatched up his bugle, for he held that office in the Cranford
Troop, and let out a piercing series of blasts that would have
undoubtedly frightened any wild animal, had there been such within a
mile of the camp on the lake shore.

It was a large owl that Thad grasped in such fashion that the bird could
not reach him with its curved beak, though it made several vicious
lunges, as though anxious to fight the whole patrol at once.

He had kept it hidden under his coat when descending the tree, and now
gripped it firmly by its two splendidly colored wings.

"Well, it did have yellow eyes, all right," complained the dejected
Davy; "and as it stuck there in that black hole, how was I to know it
was only a harmless old owl, a hooter at that?"

"If you think he's harmless just try and lay a finger on him," said
Thad. "Why, he'd snap you like lightning; once let that beak strike, and
you'd lose a piece of skin as big as a half dollar. He's a savage bird,
let me warn you."