elightedly up
at the boys.

As a hunting companion he was a frost. Looking at it in that light, and
after deep consideration, Injun spoke. "Him must go back," he said.

"How?" asked Whitey.

More profound thought, and Injun spoke again. "Me take him," he decided.

"Oh," said Whitey, "and I wait up in the mountains alone. Perhaps you
wouldn't mind sending me daily or hourly reports of Bull's condition
while he is recovering from the fatigue of his journey." Injun didn't
know whether this was sarcasm, or if he was being kidded, and he didn't
care. His was a serious mind that was not easily turned to light
thoughts. "No," said Whitey, "he goes with us, I can't bear to
disappoint him." And perhaps Injun was better satisfied at this
decision, though he did not express himself.

So the journey was resumed. For a time Whitey would carry Bull. When he
tired, Injun would carry Bull awhile. When Injun tired, Bull would
waddle a way. It was a strange way for a dog to go hunting.

As we are soon to part from Injun and Whitey, there is one more thing I
feel that I should tell you about them. In a way I don't like to tell
it, in another way I feel that I ought to tell it and--anyway, I'm
_going_ to tell it and to call it:

CHAPTER XXIV

"IN MEMORY"

Up in the mountains, about two miles northwest of Moose Lake, was a hole
which old Mother Nature had carelessly left there, and afterwards
thoughtfully filled with water. The water was blue--probably in
imitation of the near-by sky--so the place was called Blue Lake.

At Moose Lake there was a cabin and a canoe, as you may remember, and to
Injun and Whitey that had seemed too civilized for a pioneer hunting
trip. So they had fished the canoe out of the lake, and had made a
portage with it. The canoe was light, and a boy could carry it over his
head for quite a distance before he got tired or fell over a rock.

Blue Lake was an ideal place for a wild camp. It was almost circular and
nearly a mile in diameter. To the north its shore blended with the
heights that led to the peaks; heights clad with a rugged growth of
pines and firs that extended toward the timber line. There was nothing
gentle or park-like about the Blue Lake.

Its chilly depths were spring-fed, and sheltered trout that were far
from logy. They would put up an awful fight for life, and as the boys
were using back-to-nature poles, made from the branches of trees, the
fish tried the patience even of Inju