They heard it again and again from the trees.  It was a sweet musical sound, and Yan remembered how squally the Coon call was in comparison, and yet many hunters never learn the difference.

As they came near the tree whence the Owl called at intervals, a gray blot went over their heads, shutting out a handful of stars for a moment as it passed over them, but making no noise.  “There he goes,” whispered Sam.  “That’s the Screech Owl.  Not much of a screech, was it?” Not long afterward Yan came across a line of Lowell’s which says, “The song of the Screech Owl is the sweetest sound in nature,” and appreciated the absurdity of the name.

“I want to go on a Coon hunt,” continued Yan, and the sentence was just tinged with the deep-laid doggedness that was usually lost in his courteous manner.

“That settles it,” answered the other, for he was learning what that tone meant.  “We’ll surely go when you talk that way, for, of coorse, it kin be done.  You see, I know more about animals than birds,” he continued.  “I’m just as likely to be a dentist as a hunter so far as serious business is concerned, but I’d sure love to be a hunter for awhile, an’ I made Da promise to go with me some time.  Maybe we kin get a Deer by going back ten miles to the Long Swamp.  I only wish Da and Old Caleb hadn’t fought, ‘cause Caleb sure knows the woods, an’ that old Hound of his has treed more Coons than ye could shake a stick at in a month o’ Sundays.”

“Well, if that’s the only Coon dog around, I’m going to get him.  You’ll see,” was the reply.

“I believe you will,” answered Sam, in a tone of mixed admiration and amusement.

It was ten o’clock when they got home, and every one was in bed but Mr. Raften.  The boys turned in at once, but next morning, on going to the barn, they found that Si had not only sewed on and hemmed the smoke-flaps, but had resewn the worst of the patches and hemmed the whole bottom of the teepee cover with a small rope in the hem, so that they were ready now for the pins and poles.

The cover was taken at once to the camp ground.  Yan carried the axe.  When they came to the brush fence over the creek at the edge of the swamp, he said: 

“Sam, I want to blaze that trail for old Caleb.  How do you do it?”

“Spot the trees with the axe every few yards.”

“This way?” and Yan cut a tree in three places, so as to show three white spots or blazes.

“No; that’s a trapper’s blaze for a trap or a ‘special blaze’, but a ‘road blaze’ is one on the front of the tree and one on the back—­so—­then ye can run the trail both ways, an’ you put them thicker if it’s to be followed at night.”

VIII

The Sacred Fire

“Ten strong poles and two long thin ones,” said Yan, reading off.  These were soon cut and brought to the camp ground.

“Tie them together the same height as the teepee cover——­”