"Ain't no one up dere. I ain' hang roun' on Spur Mountain an' yell lak
_tamahnawus_. Me--I'm too mooch dead."

"Come on. Are you going with me?"

The Indian hesitated. "If we go roun' de hill an' ain' fin' no track,
den we hit for de cabin?" he asked, shrewdly.

"Yes," answered the boy, confident that they would strike the trail by
circling the hill, "if we don't strike the trail of whoever or whatever
made that sound, we'll hit back to the cabin."

"All right, me--I'm go 'long--but we ain' strike no trail. _Tamahnawus_
don' mak' no trail." Connie struck out with the Indian following, and as
they reached the summit of the ridge that paralleled the shore of the
lake, the sun showed his yellow rim over a distant spruce swamp, and at
the same instant, far away--from the direction of the hill, came once
more the long-drawn quavering yell. 'Merican Joe whirled at the sound
and started out over the back trail, and it required a full fifteen
minutes of persuasion, ridicule, entreaty, and threat before he
reluctantly returned and fell in behind Connie.

At the base of the hill, the boy suggested that they separate and each
follow its base in opposite directions, pointing out that much time
could be saved, as the hill, which was of mountainous proportions,
seemed likely to have a base contour of eight or ten miles. But 'Merican
Joe flatly refused. He would accompany Connie, as he had agreed to, but
not one foot would he go without the boy. All the way up the ridge, he
had followed so closely that more than once he had stepped on the tails
of Connie's snowshoes, and twice, when the boy had halted suddenly to
catch some fancied sound, he had bumped into him.

It was nearly sundown when the two stood at the intersection of their
own trail after having made the complete circuit of the hill. Fox tracks
they had found, also the tracks of wolves, and rabbits, and of an
occasional _loup cervier_--and nothing more. Connie had examined every
foot of the ground carefully, and at intervals had halted and yelled at
the top of his lungs--had even persuaded 'Merican Joe to launch forth
his own peculiarly penetrating call, but their only answer was the dead,
sphinx-like silence of the barrens.

"Com' on," urged 'Merican Joe, with a furtive glance into a nearby
thicket. "Me--I got nuff. I know we ain' goin' fin' no track.
_Tamahnawus_ don' mak' no track."

"_Tamahnawus_, nothing!" exclaimed Connie, impatiently. "I tell you
there ain't