"I used to think I knew quite some about the swamps," he said, "I was born with an ax in my hand, pretty near, but I never yet saw any critter with tracks like them. An' what's more, I ain't never been informed that ham sandwiches form a reg'lar part of a fox's menoo!" One of the men bent to examine the tracks, but the other said airily: "I'm no Seton-Thompson on the tracks question. Wait till David comes, he's a regular nature-faker for you. Leave him alone and he'll tell a tale of seeing a fox do the honors at a ten-course dinner with squirrels popping the champagne corks." The cook laughed, but awaited the verdict of his comrade, who, after a prolonged examination, straightened himself, and remarked soberly: "That's got me! You say the hambone and the bread were clean gone?" "Clean as a whistle! There was a lot of mud on the dish, and that was all." "Put it up to David, or Field. Field will tell us all he knows, and what's more, will explain why he doesn't know the rest; but David will put up the best yarn." A few minutes later the rest of the party dropped in and in turn expressed surprise and conjecture about the confusing marks upon the ground until all were back except David and the chief, and shortly David appeared. "Where's Field?" one of the men asked. "He stayed behind a minute or two for something. He said he'd be right along. No," he continued, in answer to a question, "we didn't see anything of the boy." "Well, it's a good thing you're here, anyway," said the cook, "for we've been waiting for you to explain a mystery that's puzzled the whole camp. You're a woodsman, you know, and it's up to you to tell us." "All right," said David with a confident swagger. "Trot out your mystery." The cook led him to where the tracks were visible in the soil and related to him the theft of the hambone and the bread, concluding with: "And what we want to know is--what kind of a critter made them tracks?" David stooped down for a few seconds and looked at the marks on the ground, then turned around to the fellows grouped about him, and said in a tone of scorn: "You don't know what that is?" "No, what is it?" responded one of the men. "Well, you're a pretty lot of lumberjacks not to know a swamp angel's work when you see one." "Swamp angel?" queried the cook in amazement. "Swamp angel, of course. Yes, why not? I suppose"--this in a tone of much condescension--"you have heard of a swamp angel?" The cook grinned at him. "You're a good one, David, all right," he said. "Go on, tell us about a swamp angel." "Why, a swamp angel," said David, thinking rapidly, "is a cross between a flying squirrel and a flying fox----" "With a strain of flying-fish thrown in. Go on, David," interrupted one of the men with a laugh.