“I’m through being nervous,” muttered Stanley. “If a panther leaps into the canoe I won’t stir a peg.”
“Wal, ye come near dumping us just ’cause of a water bird,” chuckled Abner. “If anyone but Charlie was forward we’d been in the lake. That’s one reason I made ye lash everything tight this morning. If we didn’t git dumped in swift water I figgered on your doing it in still.”
“But where is it? I heard it at my elbow?” puzzled Stanley, now intent only on satisfying his curiosity.
Bub caught his arm and pointed to a speck on the water. “There it is,” he informed. “It’s a water bird, called the pied billed grebe. It swims under water with just its nostrils out. I used to take city fellers out just to see them fidget. Always strike ’em near bogs. If a city chap is alone he’ll think he’s haunted and will hike into camp pale as a ghost.”
On making camp that night Stanley went with Bub without knowing the programme. Under Bub’s direction he cut a quantity of long poles and carried them to where a giant boulder presented a perpendicular face.
“Just the rock I wanted,” cried Bub.
“Why?” vacantly inquired Stanley.
