“I—­I—­can’t find the blamed old thing on such a dark night.  I—­I—­ain’t goin’.”

“Errr—­you’re scared,” whispered Caleb.

“I ain’t scared, on’y what’s the use of goin’ when I couldn’t find the place?  I’ll go when it’s moonlight.”

“Err—­anybody here brave enough to go after that stone?”

“I’ll go,” said the other two at the same time, though with a certain air of “But I hope I don’t have to, all the same.”

“You kin have the honour, Yan,” said the Woodpecker, with evident relief.

“Of course, I’d like the chance—­but—­but—­I don’t want to push ahead of you—­you’re the oldest; that wouldn’t be square,” was the reply.

“Guess we’d better draw straws for it.”

So Sam sought a long straw while Yan stirred up the coals to a blaze.  The long straw was broken in two unequal pieces and hidden in Sam’s hand.  Then after shuffling he held it toward Yan, showing only the two tips, and said, “Longest straw takes the job.”  Yan knew from old experience that a common trick was to let the shortest straw stick out farthest, so he took the other, drew it slowly out and out—­it seemed endless.  Sam opened his hand and showed that the short straw remained, then added with evident relief:  “You got it.  You are the luckiest feller I ever did see.  Everything comes your way.”

If there had been any loophole Yan would have taken it, but it was now clearly his duty to go for that stone.  It was pride rather than courage that carried him through.  He dressed quietly and nervously; his hands trembled a little as he laced his shoes.  Caleb waited outside when he heard that it was Yan who was going.  He braced him up by telling him:  “You’re the stuff.  I jest love to see grit.  I’ll go with you to the edge of the woods—­’twouldn’t be fair to go farther—­and wait there till you come back.  It’s easy to find.  Go four panels of fence past the little Elm, then right across on the other side of the road is the big stone.  Well, on the side next the north fence you’ll find the ring pebble.  The coord is lying kind o’ cross the big white stone, so you’ll find it easy; and here, take this chalk; if your grit gives out, you mark on the fence how far you did get, but don’t you worry about that groaning—­it’s nothing but a yarn—­don’t be scairt.”

“I am afraid I am scared, but still I’ll go.”

“That’s right,” said the Trapper with emphasis.  “Bravery ain’t so much not being scairt as going ahead when you are scairt, showing that you kin boss your fears.”

So they talked till they struck out of the gloom of the trees to the comparative light of the open field.

“It’s just fifteen minutes to midnight,” said Caleb, looking at his watch with the light of a match, “You’ll make it easy.  I’ll wait here.”

Then Yan went on alone.