Part 60 (1/2)

So about eleven o'clock the boys set out eagerly. As they were going Blackhawk called to the others, ”First to carry out his job wins a _grand coup_!”

”Let the three leaders stake their scalps,” said the Woodp.e.c.k.e.r.

”All right. First winner home gets a scalp from each of the others and saves his own.”

”Say, boys, you better take along; your hull outfit, some grub an'

your blankets,” was the Medicine Man's last suggestion. ”You may have to stay out all night.”

Yan would rather have had Sam along, but that couldn't be, and Peetweet proved a good fellow, though rather slow. They soon left the high ground and came to the bog--flat and seemingly endless and with a few tall Tamaracks. There were some Cedar-birds catching Flies on the tall tree-tops, and a single Flycatcher was calling out: ”_Whoit--whoit--whoit!_” Yan did not know until long after that it was the Olive-side. A Sparrow-hawk sailed over, and later a Bald Eagle with a Sparrow-hawk in hot and noisy pursuit. But the most curious thing was the surface of the bog. The spongy stretch of moss among the scattering Tamaracks was dotted with great ma.s.ses of Pitcher Plant, and half concealed by the curious leaves were thousands of Droserae, or fly-eating plants, with their traps set to secure their prey.

The bog was wonderful, but very bad walking. The boys sank knee-deep in the soft moss, and as they went farther, steering only by the sun, they found the moss sank till their feet reached the water below and they were speedily wet to the knees. Yan cut for each a long pole to carry in the hand; in case the bog gave way this would save them from sinking. After two miles of this Peetweet wanted to go back, but was scornfully suppressed by Little Beaver.

Shortly afterward they came to a sluggish little stream in the bog with a peculiar red-and-yellow sc.u.m along its banks. It was deep and soft-bottomed. Yan tried it with the pole--did not dare to wade, so they walked along its course till they found a small tree lying from bank to bank, then crossed on this. Half a mile farther on the bog got dryer, and a ma.s.s of green ahead marked one of the islands of high land. Over this they pa.s.sed quickly, keeping the northwest course.

They now had a succession of small bogs and large islands. The sun was hot here and Peetweet was getting tired. He was thirsty, too, and persisted in drinking the swamp water whenever he found a hole.

”Say, Peetweet, you'll suffer for that if you don't quit; that water isn't fit to drink unless you boil it.”

But Peetweet complained of burning thirst and drank recklessly. After two hours' tramp he was very tired and wanted to turn back. Yan sought a dry island and then gathered sticks for a fire, but found all the matches they had were soaking wet with wading through the bog.

Peetweet was much upset by this, not on account of fire now, but in case they should be out all night.

”You wait and see what an Indian does,” said Little Beaver. He sought for a dried Balsam Fir, cut the rubbing-sticks, made a bow of a slightly bent branch, and soon had a blazing fire, to Peter's utter amazement, for he had never seen the trick of making a fire by rubbing-sticks.

After drinking some tea and eating a little, Pete felt more encouraged.

”We have travelled more than six miles now, I reckon,” said the Chief; ”an hour longer and we shall be in sight of the forest if there is one,” and Yan led off across swamps more or less open and islands of burned timber.

Pete began to be appalled by the distance they were putting between them and their friends. ”What if we should get lost? They never could find us.”

”We won't get lost,” said Yan in some impatience; ”and if we did, what of it? We have only to keep on straight north or south for four or five hours and we reach some kind of a settlement.”

After an hour's tramp northeast they came to an island with a tall tree that had branches right to the ground. Yan climbed up. A vast extent of country lay all about him--open flat bogs and timber islands, and on far ahead was a long, dark ma.s.s of solid ever-green--surely the forest he sought. Between him and it he saw water sparkling.

”Oh, Pete, you ought to be up here,” he shouted joyfully; ”it's worth the climb to see this view.”

”I'd rather see our own back-yard,” grumbled Pete.

Yan came down, his face aglow with pleasure, and exclaimed: ”It's close to, now! I saw the Pine woods. Just off there.”

”How far?”

”Oh, a couple of miles, at most.”

”That's what you have been saying all along.”

”Well, I saw it this time; and there is water out there. I saw that, too.”

He tramped on, and in half an hour they came to the water, a deep, clear, slow stream, fringed with scrub willows, covered with lily-pads, and following the middle of a broad, boggy flat. Yan had looked for a pond, and was puzzled by the stream. Then it struck him.

”Caleb said there was only one big stream through this swamp. This must be it. This is Beaver River.”