hint to wait in
Greenville for a few days, and not to go looking for second-hand rifles
till he hears from us. Better not say anything until we're just parting.
Ten to one, though, you'll blurt the whole thing out in some harebrained
minute, or give it away in your sleep."

"Blow me if I do!" answered Dol solemnly.

CHAPTER XXVI.

DOC AGAIN.

Herb, turning back at that minute to wait for his party, experienced a
shock of curiosity which was new to him, at seeing the three in close
counsel, shouldering each other upon a trail a couple of feet wide.

But the sensation passed. Dol for once was not guilty of an
indiscretion, waking or sleeping. The woodsman got no hint of what
matter had been discussed until more than two weeks later, when he stood
in the main street of Greenville, beside a tanned, muscular, newly
shaven trio, waiting for their departure for Boston.

A few pleasant days, marked by no particular excitements, had been spent
at the log camp on Millinokett after that wonderful trip into the
forests of Katahdin. Then the weather turned suddenly blustering and
cold; and Cyrus, as captain, ordered an immediate forced march to
Greenville.

Under Herb's guidance that march was made with singularly few hardships.
He managed to hire a "jumper" from a new settler who had a farm a couple
of miles from their camp. This contrivance was a rough sort of sled,
formed of two stout ash saplings, and hitched to a courageous horse. The
"jumper's" one merit was that it could travel along many a rough trail
where wheels would be splintered at the outset. But since, as Herb said,
it went at "a succession of dead jumps," no camper was willing to trust
his bones to its tender mercies. However, it answered admirably for
carrying the tent, knapsacks, and trophies of the party, tightly
strapped in place, including Neal's bear-skin, which was duly called
for, and the moose-antlers, more precious in Dol's sight than if they
had been made of beaten gold.

Thus the campers journeyed homeward with their backs as light as their
spirits, caring little for the chills of a couple of nights spent under
canvas and rubber coverings.

Two gala evenings they had,--one with Uncle Eb in his bark hut near
Squaw Pond, where they were regaled with a sumptuous supper, for "coons
war in eatin' order now;" and the second with Doctor Phil Buck at his
little frame house near Moosehead Lake.

Dear old Doc was as ever a power,--a power to we