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“The writing might have been nicer, too,” said Johnny apologetically, “but I had such a scratchy, bad pen.” What was to be done? There seemed no answer. At last an idea came to Bob. “Go quick,” he said to the Indian, “get help! Bring a gun. Perhaps we can shoot him! I’ll stay here and watch. You can go quicker than I. Hurry!” “Oh, it’s nothing I can talk about,” returned the other and buried his face in his hands..

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Well, anyway, Tellef had given him an ugly scratch on the cheek. It hurt awfully, for it was a long, deep scratch. Ugh! But the fight had been a great one, and Tellef and everybody knew now who was the strongest, and all that bragging about Tellef’s muscle was done with. “No further this way!” the order came in quiet yet determined English. Bob recognized in the speaker one of the extra watchmen Boss Taylor had put on. This started a new train of thought. Why had Jerry been foolish enough to show himself in the Quarter-house? Nothing could be gained by it. Could it be that he had come to warn Bob of the impending danger to the dam and consequently to himself? Perhaps the memory of the dangers they had shared and overcome in the Labyrinth had stirred him to a moment of remorse and a desire to see his chum safe. This seemed the most likely explanation but further thought was impossible, for Feather-in-the-Wind was ready to start. After his writing, he went to the wharf and fished for a while. As it happened he caught nothing, but it was fun enough just to put out the rod and draw it in again..