O-hoo_--_O-hoo_--O-hoo-oo," the Owl cry that they had
adopted because it is commonly used by the Indians as a night signal,
and they got the same in reply from within.

"All right," shouted Caleb; "he done it, an' he's bully good stuff and
gets an uncommon _grand coup_."

"Wish I had gone now," said Guy. "I could 'a' done it just as well as
Yan."

"Well, go on now."

"Oh, there ain't any stone to get now for proof."

"You can write your name on the grave, as I did."

"Ah, that wouldn't prove nothin'," and Guy dropped the subject.

Yan did not mean to tell his adventure that night, but his excitement
was evident, and they soon got it out of him in full. They were
a weird-looking crowd as they sat around the flickering fire,
experiencing as he told it no small measure of the scare he had just
been through.

When he had finished Yan said, "Now, Guy, don't you want to go and try
it?"

"Oh, quit," said Guy; "I never saw such a feller as you for yammering
away on the same subjek."

Caleb looked at his watch now, as though about to leave, when Yan
said:

"Say, Mr. Clark, won't you sleep here? There's lots o' room in Guy's
bed."

"Don't mind if I do, seem' it's late."

XX

The White Revolver

In the morning Caleb had the satisfaction of eating a breakfast
prepared by the son of his enemy, for Sam was cook that day.

The Great Woodpecker expressed the thought of the whole assembly when
after breakfast he said: "Now I want to go and see that grave. I
believe Yan wrote his name on some old cow that was lying down and she
didn't like it and said so out loud!"

They arrived at the spot in a few minutes. Yes, there it was
plainly written on the rude gravestone, rather shaky, but perfectly
legible--"Yan."

"Pretty poor writing," was Guy's remark.

"Well, you sure done it! Good boy!" said Sam warmly. "Don't believe
I'd 'a' had the grit."

"Bet I would," said Guy.

"Here's where I crossed the ditch. See my trail in the mud? Out there
is where I heard the yelling. Let's see if ghosts make tracks. Hallo,
what the--"

There were the tracks in the mud of a big man. He had sprawled,
falling on his hands and knees. Here was the print of his hands
several times, and in the mud, half hidden, something shining--Guy saw
it first and picked it up. It was a white-handled Colt's revolver.

"Let's see that," said Caleb. He wiped off the mud. His eye kindled.
"That's my revolver that was stole from me 'way bac