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Updated: May 12, 2025
Herb's prophecy was being fulfilled. Pamolah was grumbling at the trailers, and sending out his Thunder Sons to bid them back. But it was too late for retreat. If they gave up their purpose, turned and fled to camp, the storm, which was surely coming, would catch them under the interlacing trees, a danger which the guide was especially anxious to avoid.
They were to return home by train instead of automobile, and all the ladies had gone to the station in the big motor omnibus, but the boys had preferred to walk, as the distance was not great and there was still plenty of time before the train was due. "We've had a wonderful time here, there's no doubt of that," said Bob, commenting on Herb's apostrophe to the bungalows.
"He'll drop one, sure! He's a crack shot is Cyrus! There! he's drawing bead. Bravo!... he's floored the biggest!" Herb's gusty breath blew the sentences through his nostrils, while the sudden, explosive bang of the Winchester cut through all other sounds, and set the air a-quiver. Twice Cyrus fired. The largest bull-caribou leaped three feet upward, wheeled about, staggered to his knees.
A snort, sudden and loud as the report of a shot-gun, made the four jump. Neal, who was standing on a slippery stone by the brink, lost his balance and staggered forward into the water, kicking up jets of shining spray. The snort was followed by a grunt, plaintive, distracted, which sounded oddly familiar, seeing that it had been so well imitated on Herb's horn.
Not a ray of sense was yet in the half-breed's eyes. An imaginary, vengeance-dealing Herb was before him; but he never turned a glance towards the real, and now forgiving, old chum, who leaned against the wall not ten feet away. His voice dropped to a guttural rumble, in which Indian sounds mingled with English. But the flame at Herb's heart was quenched at the first whimpered word.
"I'm delighted to see you, though I was ready to swear you wouldn't disappoint us! I didn't fasten the cabin-door, for I thought you might possibly get back to camp during the night." "Cyrus, old fellow, how goes it?" was Herb's greeting. "I had a'most given up looking for you. But I'm powerful glad you've got here at last."
"We can't make it any worse than Herb's singing, anyway," so they all joined in the song. At the end of each line they paused, and Larry gave the proper bird notes and trills. The result was not half bad, and before they had finished other convalescent patients had come into the room and were listening appreciatively.
The boy was so entranced with the new musical art he was mastering, which would be a means of communication between him and the behemoth of the woods, that he haunted the edges of the forest about the clearing, keeping aloof from his brother and friend, practising unceasingly, sometimes under Herb's supervision, sometimes alone.
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