walked down to
the canoes, and with an arm thrown caressingly across the keel of the
precious cedar craft began his long and lonely vigil.

He thought nothing of such a little hardship, having been accustomed to
the vicissitudes of the woods from childhood--to him the various sounds
of the wilderness, after nightfall had come, were as familiar as the
cackling of hens to a farmer's lad, and what was more to the point he
read these signs so well that they one and all possessed a significance
far beyond any surface indications.

But these forests of the Silent Land bear little comparison with the
depths of a tropical jungle, or the dense growth of an African
wilderness where a multitude of animals make the air vibrate with their
roaring during the entire period of darkness.

Sometimes in the daytime not a sound can be heard save the moaning of
the wind among the tops of the pines, or the gurgle of some meandering
stream, all around being absolute silence, deep and profound.

At night it? is not quite so bad, for then the hooting of a vagrant owl,
or it may be the distant howl of a prowling timber wolf, that gray
skulker of the pine lands, is apt to break the monotony; but even in the
midst of summer there is lacking the hum of insects and the bustle of
woods life--at best one hears the weird call of the whip-poor-will,
called by the Indians, the "wish-a-wish," or if near a marsh the
croaking of gigantic bullfrogs.

Owen apparently had many things to engage his thoughts as he kept watch
and ward over the camp of his new-found friends; and judging from his
repeated sighs his self-communion was hardly of a cheerful character,
for several times the boy gritted his teeth savagely, and clinched his
fist as though rebelling against some decree of fate that had
temporarily upset his calculations.

Once a name escaped his lips, and it was that of the old factor in
charge of the Hudson Bay trading post further up the river; and almost
in the same breath he murmured the word "mother," tenderly, as though
his thoughts had flown backward to happy scenes so greatly in contrast
with his present forlorn conditions.

Nevertheless, Owen did not forget why he was on guard, not for a minute.

He had so placed himself when leaning his back against that adored cedar
boat that he could keep watch over the camp, and particularly that
portion of it where Stackpole's elongated frame, rolled up like a mummy
in his blanket, was to be seen.