Paul felt the same weird little shiver that had assailed him the night before.

“A burying ground!”

“Yes, but by some old, old tribe before the Shawnees or Miamis.  What you see are only bundles of sticks and skeletons.  No bodies have been left here in a long time, and the Indians think the island is haunted by the ghosts of those who died and were left here long, long ago.  That is why we needed to keep no watch last night.  I discovered this place on a hunting trip, and I’ve always kept it in mind.

“Let’s go back,” said Paul, who did not like to look at this burying ground in the air.

Henry laughed a little, but he did willingly as Paul requested, and when they returned to the fire they found that Jim Hart, falling easily into his natural position, had already cooked the venison.  Paul’s spirits at once went up with a bound.  The bright fire, the pleasant odor of the venison, the cheerful faces of his comrades, and assured safety appealed to his vivid imagination, and made the blood leap in a sparkling torrent through his veins.

“Graveyard or no graveyard, I’m glad I’m here,” he said energetically.

They laughed, and Shif’less Sol, who, as usual, had found the softest place and had stretched himself upon it, said, with drawling emphasis: 

“You’re mighty right, Paul, an’ I’m a’gin’ movin’ from here afore cold weather comes.  I’m pow’ful comf’table.”

“If you don’t git up an’ stir aroun’, how do you expect to eat?” said Jim Hart indignantly.  “We ain’t got venison enough for more’n ten more meals.”

“Henry an’ Tom will shoot it, an’ you’ll cook it fur me,” said Sol complacently.

Jim Hart growled, but Henry and Ross were already discussing this question of a food supply, and Paul listened.

“The Indians don’t come about the lake much,” said Henry, “and it will be easy enough to find deer, but we must hunt at night.  We mustn’t let the savages see us, as it might break the island’s spell.”

“We’ll take the canoe and go out to-night,” said Ross.

“And this lake ought to be full of fish,” said Paul.  “We might draw on it, too, for a food supply.”

“Looks likely,” said Ross.  “But we’d best not try that, either, till dusk.”

But they worked in the course of the day at the manufacture of their rude fishing tackle, constructed chiefly of their clothing, the hooks being nothing more than a rough sort of pin bent to the right shape.  This done, they spent the rest of the day in loafing and lolling about, although Paul took a half hour for the thorough exploration of the island, which presented no unusual features beyond those that he had already seen.  After that he came back to the little cove and luxuriated, as the others were doing.  It was the keenest sort of joy now just to rest, to lie at one’s ease, and to feel the freedom from danger.  The old burying ground was a better guard about them than a thousand men.