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Thus the leaders, Sam and Yan, soon found themselves paired with Guy and Peetweet. Wes felt bound to take care of his little cousin Char-less. Bluejay, finding himself the odd man, decided to stay with Caleb, especially as the swamp evidently was without proper footpaths. "Now," said Caleb, "northwest of here there is a river called the Beaver, that runs into Black River.
What would I not give to have had a crew of white men. A couple of stout Norwegian sailors would have done far better than this whole outfit of reds. When we stopped for supper No. 1 a tiny thimbleful of down on two pink matches ran past, and at once the mother, a Peetweet, came running in distress to save her young. The brave Beaulieu fearlessly seized a big stick and ran to kill the little one.
That was enough to stir them all, for the place was near at hand. Peetweet alone was for staying in camp, but when told that he might stay and keep house by himself he made up his mind to get all the fun he could.
Yan would rather have had Sam along, but that couldn't be, and Peetweet proved a good fellow, though rather slow. They soon left the high ground and came to the bog flat and seemingly endless and with a few tall Tamaracks. There were some Cedar-birds catching Flies on the tall tree-tops, and a single Flycatcher was calling out: "Whoit whoit whoit!"
Yan sought a dry island and then gathered sticks for a fire, but found all the matches they had were soaking wet with wading through the bog. Peetweet was much upset by this, not on account of fire now, but in case they should be out all night. "You wait and see what an Indian does," said Little Beaver.
The sun was hot here and Peetweet was getting tired. He was thirsty, too, and persisted in drinking the swamp water whenever he found a hole. "Say, Peetweet, you'll suffer for that if you don't quit; that water isn't fit to drink unless you boil it." But Peetweet complained of burning thirst and drank recklessly. After two hours' tramp he was very tired and wanted to turn back.
The days went on right merrily oh, so fast! Little Beaver showed all the things of interest in his kingdom. How happy he was in showing them playing experienced guide as he used to dream it! Peetweet took a keen interest; so did the city boy. Char-less took a little interest in it all, helped a little, was generally a little in everything, and giggled a good deal.
After two miles of this Peetweet wanted to go back, but was scornfully suppressed by Little Beaver. Shortly afterward they came to a sluggish little stream in the bog with a peculiar red-and-yellow scum along its banks. It was deep and soft-bottomed.
His hooked nose and black hair and eyes won for him the appropriate name of "Blackhawk." The city boy being a noisy "show-off," who did little work, was called "Bluejay" Peter Boyle was "Peetweet," and Char-less, from his peculiar snickering and showing two large front teeth, was called "Red-squirrel."
I had a presentiment that they would find none, so kept the camera and went off to the Lake a mile west, and there made drawings of some tracks, took photos, etc., and on the lake saw about twenty-five pairs of ducks, identified Whitewinged Scoter, Pintail, Green-winged Teal, and Loon. I also watched the manoeuvres of a courting Peetweet.
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