“Sneak,” said Joe, “I’ve no doubt you thought he was dead—but then you must know it’s nearly as hard to kill a man as a cat. You might have been mistaken; every body is liable to be deceived—even a person’s eyes deceive him sometimes. I don’t pretend to say that I haven’t been mistaken before now, myself. It _may_ be possible that I was mistaken about the Indian as well as you—I might have just _thought_ I saw him move. But I was there longer than you, and the inference is that I didn’t stand as good a chance to be deceived.” “Well, I can’t answer all that,” said Sneak; “but I’ll swear I felt my knife grit agin his neck-bone.” Joe did not desire to pursue the subject any further, and they proceeded on their way in silence, ever and anon breaking through the snow-crust. The atmosphere became still more temperate when the bright sun beamed over the horizon. Drops of water trickled down from the snow-covered branches of the trees, and a few birds flitted overhead, and uttered imperfect lays. “Here we are,” said Sneak, halting in the midst of a clump of enormous sycamore trees, over whose roots a sparkling rivulet glided with a gurgling sound. “I know we’re here,” said Joe; “but what are you stopping _here_ for?” “Here’s where I live,” replied Sneak, with a comical smile playing on his lips. “But where’s your house?” asked Joe. “Didn’t I say you couldn’t find it, even if you was to rub your back agin it?” “I know I’m not rubbing against your house now,” replied Joe, turning round and looking up in the huge tree he had been leaning against. “But you have been leaning agin my house,” continued Sneak, amused at the incredulous face of his companion. “I know better,” persisted Joe; “this big sycamore is the only thing I’ve leant against since we started.” “Jest foller me, and I’ll show you something,” said Sneak, stepping round to the opposite side of the tree, where the ascent on the north rose abruptly from the roots. Here he removed a thin flat stone of about four feet in height, that stood in a vertical position against the tree. “You don’t live in there, Sneak, surely; why that looks like a wolf’s den,” said Joe, perceiving a dark yawning aperture, and that the immense tree was but a mere shell. “Keep at my heels,” said Sneak, stooping down and crawling into the tree. “I’d rather not,” said Joe; “there may be a bear in it.” Soon a clicking sound was heard within, and the next moment Joe perceived the flickering rays of a small lamp that Sneak held in his hand, illuminating the sombre recesses of the novel habitation. “Why don’t you come in?” asked Sneak. “Sneak, how do you know there ain’t a bear up in the hollow?” asked Joe, crawling in timidly and endeavouring to peer through the darkness far above, where even the rays of the lamp could not penetrate.