being the
chief task unfinished.

Notwithstanding how the wind crept in at the open cracks until this work
should be done, the boys were happy as they cooked and ate their supper
in their new home. The ripple and murmur of the river as it splashed on
the shore or washed over half-hidden stones, rose to them from the foot
of the mound, and was like sweet music in their ears. The wind gently
tossed the branches of the trees in harmony with the water's sound, and
the howling of wolves far off somewhere in the darkness, made the feeling
of security which the stout cabin walls gave all the more pleasing. Their
prowling foe had not been about since the first night of their arrival,
and they felt entirely safe.

"I guess I'll turn in, then," said John, after trying in vain to brighten
up Tom Fish and get him to telling stories; and he was soon asleep on the
bed of leaves he had made in a corner.

Ree, having had no chance to read since leaving home, resolved to improve
this opportunity. He got his "Pilgrim's Progress" from a chest, and
settled himself before the fire.

All the evening Tom had sat in silence beside the big chimney, but soon
he leaned over, and placing one big hand on Ree's knee, said in a low
voice:

"I've been wantin' to tell ye somethin', Ree; it's about that thar scalp
that has upset me so ever since I seen it."

CHAPTER XIII.

The Strange Story of Arthur Bridges.

Putting down his book, Ree looked thoughtfully into Tom's face.

"Of course," said he, "John and I have wondered about that--that
matter--but we have considered that you had some reason for not talking
of it, or telling us what it meant; and it was really none of our
business. But I want to say, Tom, that I would rather you would not tell
me anything which I must keep from John. He and I--well, you know how we
have always been together, and we have no secrets from each other."

"Bless ye, Ree, lad," exclaimed the old woodsman, "ye kin tell him all ye
please of what I'm goin' to tell ye. The only reason I don't talk before
him is--he's so full o' fun ye know; and ain't always keerful what he
says. I don't keer when we're spinnin' yarns; but this here--it ain't no
triflin' thing."

"It's John's way. He would not hurt your feelings for anything, Tom."

The hunter did not answer at once, but buried his face in his hands. Ree
could plainly see that some great trouble was on his mind. Presently,
however, he raised his head, and wi