t dawned on Little Beaver. Now he remembered that voice in
Glenyan so long ago, and told the others with an air of certainty:

"Boys, that's the yelling of a Lynx," and the next day Caleb said that
Yan was right.

Some days later they learned that another lamb had been taken from the
Raften flock that night.

In the morning Yan took down the tom-tom for a little music and found
it flat and soft.

"Hallo," said he; "going to rain."

Caleb looked up at him with an amused expression. "You're a reg'lar
Injun. It's surely an Injun trick that. When the tom-tom won't sing
without being warmed at the fire they allus says 'rain before night.'"

The Trapper stayed late that evening. It had been cloudy all the
afternoon, and at sundown it began to rain, so he was invited to
supper. The shower grew heavier instead of ending. Caleb went out and
dug a trench all round the teepee to catch the rain, then a leader to
take it away. After supper they sat around the campfire in the teepee;
the wind arose and the rain beat down. Yan had to go out and swing the
smoke poles, and again his ear was greeted with _the screech_. He
brought in an armful of wood and made the inside of the teepee a blaze
of cheerful light. A high wind now came in gusts, so that the canvas
flopped unpleasantly on the poles.

"Where's your anchor rope?" asked the Trapper.

Sam produced the loose end; the other was fastened properly to the
poles above. It had never been used, for so far the weather had been
fine; but now Caleb sunk a heavy stake, lashed the anchor rope to that,
then went out and drove all the pegs a little deeper, and the Tribe
felt safe from any ordinary storm.

There was nothing to attract the old Trapper to his own shanty. His
heirs had begun to forget that he needed food, and what little they
did send was of vilest quality. The old man was as fond of human
society as any one, and was easily persuaded now to stay all night,
"if you can stand Guy for a bedfeller." So Caleb and Turk settled down
for a comfortable evening within, while the storm raged without.

"Say, don't you touch that canvas, Guy; you'll make it leak."

"What, me? Oh, pshaw! How can it leak for a little thing like that?"
and Guy slapped it again in bravado.

"All right, it's on your side of the bed," and sure enough, within two
minutes a little stream of water was trickling from the place he had
rubbed, while elsewhere the canvas turned every drop.

This is well known