270 WILD SPORTS IN THE SOUTH. 



In three days Mike had retraced the course he had brought us 

 in descending the river. Over the broad water of Lake George, 

 where the great pearl-shell mussels grow, he passed like a gull 

 before a northerly wind, holding up his blanket for a sail, and 

 made the orange tree point where the St. John's enters the lake 

 from the southward. 



Following the St John's beyond Lake Monroe, he passed in 

 the night, and unobserved, the company of soldiers we met in 

 descending the river. Their camp-fire was bright on the beach, 

 and he could hear the sentries challenge as they marched to and 

 fro under the stately trees, according to what Mike thought their 

 unnecessarily ostentatious rules of camp government. 



" Hulloain' like that in the woods when they ought to be hidin' 

 away," said he to himself, as he noiselessly floated by ; " that 's all 

 some folks knows." 



Mike was like a good many quiet people — he liked his own 

 company, and would talk to himself, little by little, in disconnected 

 sentences, even when he refused to talk to any one else. The 

 many days he passed alone encouraged the habit. 



Thence still up the St. John's, through all its winding course, 

 he paddled, warily watching the shore and water, and often visiting 

 either bank to look for signs. Wherever there was a bend in the 

 river, he kept close to the point around which the curve made, 

 creeping around so slowly and cautiously that his eye took in all 

 the reach of the river ahead before he could himself be discovered. 

 He visited many old Indian camps, wandering around them, look- 

 ing for little signs indicating the intention their occupants had at 

 parting. "Wherever there was a trail across the river he seemed 

 to know or divine it, approached it warily, and only left it after a 

 careful scrutiny. 



When he built a fire to cook his food, it was made back from 

 the river, and the fire was lit of the driest twigs, so that it raised 

 no smoke, and at leaving he covered it over with ashes, and 

 stamped out the mark his rifle had made in the sand. Sometimes 

 he would not let his dog come ashore, or if he did, carefully rubbed 

 out the tracks of his feet. He did not travel at night, unless in 

 the early part of the evening, and never struck a light after dark, 



