ickly guessed the truth
that Jake had pushed them out from the inside, under the impression
that he was driving them into a hole in the centre of the tangled
drift.

Sam was a brave boy, too brave to be vindictive, and so he quickly
decided that as he had recovered his boots he would subject his enemy
only to so much punishment as he thought was necessary to secure his
good behavior afterward. He knew that the boys would torment Jake
unmercifully if the true story of the night's exploits should become
known to them, and while he knew that the culprit deserved the
severest lesson, he was too magnanimous to subject him to so sore a
trial. He went to sleep, therefore, resolved to release his enemy
quietly in the morning, before the other boys should be astir.
Unluckily he overslept himself, and so the first hint of the dawn he
received was from the loud calling of the boys for Jake Elliott.
Fortunately Jake had not yet nerved himself up to the point of
answering and calling for assistance, and so Sam had still a chance to
execute his plan.

"Never mind calling Jake," he cried, as he rose from his couch of
bushes, "but run down to the spring and bring some water. I have Jake
engaged elsewhere."

The boys suspected at once that Sam and Jake had arranged a private
battle to be fought somewhere in the woods beyond camp lines, a battle
with fists for the mastery, and they were strongly disposed to follow
their captain as he started up the river.

"Stop," cried Sam. "I have business with Jake, which will not interest
you. Besides, I think it best that you shall remain here. Go to the
spring, as I tell you, and then go back to the fire, and get
breakfast. Jake and I will be there in time to help you eat it. If one
of you follows me a foot of the way, I--never mind; I tell you you
must not follow me, and you shall not."

There were some symptoms of a turbulent, but good-natured revolt, but
Sam's earnestness quieted it, and the boys reluctantly drew back.

Passing around to the further side of the drift-pile, more than a
hundred yards away from the nearest point of the camp, Sam called in a
low tone:--

"Jake! Jake!"

"What is it?" asked Jake presently, trembling in voice as he trembled
in limb, for he was now thoroughly broken and frightened. He dreaded
the meeting with Sam nearly as much as he dreaded the terrible fate
which seemed to him the only alternative, namely, that of remaining in
the drift-pile to starve.