Here are two verses, under the influence of which the dog worked himself up to such excitement that he seemed to feel the ghosts of rabbits slain—­for he could smell no live ones—­hovering near him:—­

  “I raise my gun whar de rabbit run—­
    Ketch him, Tiger, ketch him! 
  En de rabbit say: 
    ’Gimme time ter pray,
  Fer I ain’t got long fer to stay, to stay!’
    Oh, ketch him, Tiger, ketch him!

  “Ketch him, oh, ketch him! 
  Run ter de place en fetch him! 
  De bell done chime
  Fer de breakfast time—­
    Oh, ketch him, Tiger, ketch him!”

“If there are any more verses, Uncle Eb, keep them until we’ve had supper, or breakfast, or whatever you like to call a meal at this unearthly hour.  I’m so hungry that I could chew nails!” cried Cyrus, springing from behind the bushes, and reaching the, camp-fire with a few strides, Neal following him.

“Sakes alive! yonkers; is dat you?” cried the darkey, uprearing his gray figure.  “I’se mighty glad to see you back.  Whar’s yer meat?  Left it in de canoe mebbe?  De buck too big to drag ’long to camp—­eh?”

There was a wicked rolling of Uncle Eb’s eyes while he spoke.  Evidently from the looks of the sportsmen he guessed immediately what had been the result of their excursion.

“No luck and no buck to-night!” answered Garst.  “But don’t roast us, Uncle Eb.  Get us something to eat quicker than lightning or we’ll go for you—­at least we would if we weren’t entirely played out.  It isn’t everybody who can manage a hard shot as cleverly as you do, when he can only see the eyes of an animal.  And that was the one chance we got.”

No man living ever heard a further word from Cyrus as to how his English friend bore the scares of a first night’s jacking.

“Ya-as, dat’s a ticklish shot.  Most folks is skeered o’ trying it,” drawled out Ebenezer Grout, a professional guide as well as “colored gen’leman,” familiarly called by visitors to this region who hired the use of his hut and his services, “Uncle Eb.”

“There’s some comfort for you,” whispered Cyrus slyly into Neal’s ear.  Aloud he said, addressing the guide, “We had a spill-out, too, as a crown-all.  I’m mighty glad that this is the second of October, not November, and that the weather is as warm as summer; otherwise we’d be in a pretty bad way from chill.  I feel shivery.  Hurry up, and get us some steaming hot coffee and flapjacks, Uncle Eb, while we fling off these wet clothes.  The trouble is we haven’t got any dry ones.”

“Hain’t got no oder suits?” queried the woodsman.  “Den go ’long, boys, and rig yerselves up in yer blankets.  Ye can pertend to be Injuns fer to-night.  Like enough dis ain’t de worst shift ye’ll have to make ’fore ye get out o’ dese parts.”