A deep mist lay on the meadows.
"I like day-dark in Injun country," he whispered.

"Come on." They hurried through sloppy footing in the wet grass that flung its dew into their garments from the shoulder down.

Suddenly Mr.Binkus stopped.

They could hear the sound of heavy feet splashing in the wet meadow.
"Scairt moose, runnin' this way!" the scout whispered.

"I'll bet ye a pint o' powder an' a fish hook them Injuns is over east o' here." It was his favorite wager--that of a pint of powder and a fish hook.
They came out upon high ground and reached the valley trail just as the sun was rising.