He was a dangerous ally in either case.
Evening fell, and the good smell of supper came along the wind to find us still undecided.

We returned to the tent thinking that perhaps something Schillingschen himself might say would help us to decide one way or the other.
"Better see if the brute wants a drink," said Fred, and I went in ahead to offer him water.
He was gone! Clean gone, without a trace, or a hint as to how he managed it! I called the others, and we hunted.

The sides of the tent were pegged down tight all around.

The front, it is true, was wide open, but we had sat in full view of it and not so much as a rat could have crept out without our seeing.

There were no signs of burrowing.
He was not under the bed, or behind the boxes, or between the sides of the tent and the fly.