"Here, boost me up and I will get it; then we can tell all about it," answered Bob, who did not believe in wasting time in talk when the solution of the mystery was so easy to learn. So Sandy gave him a hand, and the agile lad quickly gained the low roof; for the new cabin, while commodious, was only one story high, with a low loft above the living room and just under the roof. Bob took the arrow from the roof. He seemed to use more or less vigor in order to extract the flint head, showing that it had come down with considerable force after its aerial flight. "Oh! I remember now," said Sandy, suddenly arousing. "What?" demanded the other, as he prepared to jump to the ground, holding the feathered missile carefully in one hand. "Why," said Sandy, eagerly, "something seemed to arouse me just about daybreak. It sounded like a stone thrown against the house. But I thought father was up, and getting the fire ready, so mother could cook breakfast; and I went to sleep again. Bob, that must have been the time the arrow dropped on the roof!" "Yes, that was the time," answered Bob; "for the one who held the bow could never have seen how to aim in the night, even though there was a moon." "Aim, do you say, brother? Is it possible then he meant to stick that arrow in our roof rather than any other?" demanded Sandy, startled. "I surely do believe it. See, here is a message fastened to the shaft by little threads drawn from the fibre of cane!" and Bob held up the piece of birch bark, which Sandy now saw contained various rude designs possibly drawn with a sharp-pointed eagle quill, dipped in the juice of the poke berry. "Blue Jacket!" he exclaimed involuntarily, for suddenly he remembered that other unique message which the young Shawanee warrior had left, at the time he had slipped away from the cabin of the Armstrongs. "Yes, that is the plainest thing of all," remarked Bob, "for you see here at the end there is what is meant to be the figure of a man, an Indian, too, for he has feathers in his hair; and his jacket is daubed with a blue stain. But what puzzles me is to read these signs. Come, sit down here. Perhaps two heads may prove better than one, and you are quick at such things." "Oh! if only Pat O'Mara were here now, how quickly he would read it all," said Sandy, screwing up his forehead as he scanned the several lines of strange figures. "This must mean the sun, all right," remarked Bob, pointing to the first rude representation in the line. They both turned to look at the king of day as though understanding that the Indian artist meant to call their attention that way. "Well," remarked Sandy, "the old fellow does look angry this morning. And then the sky all around has a coppery hue. That must mean more dry weather, brother." But Bob shook his head. He had seen something more in those queer picture paintings that caught his attention.