the almost interminable
wilderness.

CHAPTER XII.

A STRANGE ANIMAL.

When Fred Linden reached the creek where he had met with his stirring
adventure the day before, he could not help smiling. It had shrunk to
its usual volume, and was winding along as lazily as usual, the only
sign of the violent freshet being the _debris_ left along the bank and
the slightly roiled appearance of the current.

The pioneers had so many occasions to cross this stream of water that
they had made several attempts to put up a rude but strong bridge; but
no matter what pains they took, they could never erect a structure
strong enough to withstand the furious freshets which, as you can well
understand, were often resistless.

The result, therefore, was a reliance upon the canoes, some of which lay
on one side of the stream and some on the other; but a surprise awaited
young Linden. Seeing no boat in sight, he walked along the shore in
quest of one, for he was resolved to keep out of the water as long as he
could, though a lad on the frontier makes far less ado about dripping
garments than you or I.

That which surprised him was the sight of a long, uprooted tree which,
coming down the creek, when the water was rapidly falling, had swung
around in such position that the roots caught fast in the clayey soil on
the bank, and the limbs were imbedded in the sand and mud on the other
shore. The result was as good a bridge as a foot traveler could want.

"That will do until there comes another rise," he said, as he carefully
stepped upon the limbs, using them to reach the trunk, along which he
walked across the water, leaping to the ground on the other side.

He stepped off with his elastic gait, keeping so close to the path that
he and Terry had taken the day before that he caught sight of the bushes
around the splintered trunk of the tree where the rifle captured from
the Winnebago had been hidden.

"He'll be over early to get his prize," thought Fred; "for it is beyond
all worth to him. If it wouldn't make him feel so bad I would plague him
a little by hiding it."

He parted the bushes and peered within. The first object on which his
eye fell was the battered old cow-bell that had played such a curious
part the day before, but he saw nothing of the gun itself; a brief but
hurried search convinced him that it was gone.

"That will break Terry's heart," said he to himself; "he never owned a
gun, and now, to lose such a handso