No incriminating marks were discernible on the trees. Smoke was nowhere
visible. No firearm disturbed the silence of the wilderness. No birds flew
upward with cries of alarm, save at their own approach. And the only
voices that were audible were the voices of the brooks.

Under other circumstances Charley would have been supremely happy. The sun
came up bright and clear. No veil of mist floated before the face of the
sky. But woolly, white cloud banks sailed lazily aloft, intensifying by
contrast the blue of the sky. A gentle wind blew fitfully. The earth
steamed fragrantly, sending up an odor joyful to the nostrils. And the
little brooks babbled wildly in their joy at the spring-time.

But Charley was not in a responsive mood. The thought of the man Collins
and his evil-favored companion weighed upon him heavily. Nor was the
knowledge that a wildcat was prowling about his camp reassuring; though
Charley was far from being afraid of the beast. And always the dread of
fire was in the background of his consciousness. What troubled him more
than anything else just now was the approaching loss of his chum. Could
Charley have diagnosed correctly the feelings that oppressed him now, he
would have known that it was the fear of loneliness more than any fear of
Bill Collins or wildcats or forest fires, that made him sad. To read about
Robinson Crusoe was all right, but to be Robinson Crusoe was quite a
different matter--at least a Crusoe without a good man Friday. And Charley
was too downcast at present to realize that the pup at his heels could be
to him all that Friday was to his master, and perhaps more.

Again and again Charley turned over in his mind the problem of how he
could get the battery he needed. More than ever he felt that he absolutely
must have it. Such a battery would cost many, many dollars. To be sure,
Charley's salary would soon bring him in enough money to pay for such a