He tramped on, and in half an hour they came to the water, a deep, clear, slow stream, fringed with scrub willows, covered with lily-pads, and following the middle of a broad, boggy flat.  Yan had looked for a pond, and was puzzled by the stream.  Then it struck him.  “Caleb said there was only one big stream through this swamp.  This must be it.  This is Beaver River.”

The stream was barely forty feet across, but it was clearly out of the question to find a pole for a bridge, so Yan stripped off, put all his things in a bundle, and throwing them over, swam after them.  Pete had to come now or be left.

As they were dressing on the northern side there was a sudden loud “Bang—­swish!” A torrent of water was thrown in the air, with lily-pads broken from their mooring, the water pattered down, the wavelets settled, and the boys stood in astonishment to see what strange animal had made this disturbance; but nothing more of it was seen, and the mystery remained unsolved.

Then Yan heard a familiar “Quack!” down the stream.  He took his bow and arrow, while Pete sat gloomily on a hummock.  As soon as he peered through the rushes in a little bay he saw three Mallard close at hand.  He waited till two were in line, then fired, killing one instantly, and the others flew away.  The breeze wafted it within reach of a stick, and he seized it and returned in triumph to Pete, but found him ready to cry.  “I want to go home!” he said miserably.  The sight of the Mallard cheered him a little, and Yan said:  “Come now, Pete, don’t spoil everything, there’s a good fellow.  Brace up, and if I don’t show you the Pine woods in twenty minutes I’ll turn and take you home.”

As soon as they got to the next island they saw the Pine wood—­a solid green bank not half a mile away, and the boys gave a little cheer, and felt, no doubt, as Mungo Park did when first he sighted the Niger.  In fifteen minutes they were walking in its dry and delightful aisles.

“Now we’ve won,” said Yan, “whatever the others do, and all that remains is to get back.”

“I’m awfully tired,” said Pete; “let’s rest awhile.”

Yan looked at his watch.  “It’s four o’clock.  I think we’d better camp for the night.”

“Oh, no; I want to go home.  It looks like rain.”

It certainly did, but Yan replied, “Well, let’s eat first.”  He delayed as much as possible so as to compel the making of a camp, and the rain came unexpectedly, before he even had a fire.  Yet to his own delight and Peter’s astonishment he quickly made a rubbing-stick fire, and they hung up their wet clothes about it.  Then he dug an Indian well and took lots of time in the preparation, so it was six o’clock before they began to eat, and seven when finished—­evidently too late to move out even though the rain seemed to be over.  So Yan collected firewood, made a bed of Fir boughs and a windbreak of bushes and bark.  The weather was warm, and with the fire and two blankets they passed a comfortable night.  They heard their old friend the Horned Owl, a Fox barked his querulous “Yap-yurr!” close at hand, and once or twice they were awakened by rustling footsteps in the leaves, but slept fairly well.