ing up over his head, the hunter will hear, just
there in the empty air so near that he could lay his hand on the spot, a
low laugh--He-he-he! A wild, low laugh of scorn and derision, which
causes the strong, bold man to quake and quail far more than were he to
hear the loud, fierce growl of a bear behind him. Saving the red man, no
one knows who or what this terrible shape of the wilderness is--where he
dwells, nor how he exists; whom he loves, nor whom he hates; but white
men call him 'Nick of the Woods.'"

CHAPTER V.

Who Gave Sprigg The Red Moccasins?

"Will-o'-the-Wisp.
Some would wear our moccasins red,
Though the road should lead to the dead.
Some would wear our coronals green,
Who would keep themselves unseen!
Jervis Whitney! Jervis Whitney!"

So sang a wild and musical voice out there in the woods; and halting
suddenly and cocking his gun, Jervis Whitney stood on his guard.

"Will-o'-the-Wisp!
None shall wear our moccasins red,
On the road that leads to the dead.
None shall wear our coronals green,
But to see themselves as they are seen!
Jervis Whitney! Jervis Whitney!"

Again sang the voice out there in the night; and looking straight before
him, his eyes upon the spot where a speaker should be, Jervis Whitney
saw never a living thing; saw nothing but the moss-grown trunk of a
tree, where it lay on the ground, not ten paces distant, with the
moonlight shining full upon it.

What I am now telling you happened last Saturday night, on which, as you
will remember, Jervis Whitney returned from their old Virginia home. He
was within a mile of his journey's end, and had reached a glade in the
forest where there was scarcely a tree or bush to break the clearest of
moonlight with a shadow, when his ear was caught by the voice of the
invisible speaker.

"Who calls Jervis Whitney?" now in his turn cried the White Hunter,
looking in wonder all around him, far and near, still seeing never a
shape of life that could call a man by name.

"I do!" answered the voice. "I, the king of the Manitous; or, as you
white men call me, Nick of the Woods." And with these words there seemed
to perch on the tree trunk, whence the voice proceeded, what seemed a
magnificent bird of bright green plumage, and there beside it, visible,
stood the mysterious speaker.

It was a manikin, scarcely more than a y