But the split, he does not show.

When we try to cut heem down and the strain come, blooey, he, what-you-say, bust!" "But why the spikes ?" "Wait!" Ba'tiste, suddenly serious, turned away into the woods, to go slowly from tree to tree, to dig at them with his knife, to squint and stare, to shin a few feet up a trunk now and then, examining every protuberance, every round, bulbous scar.

At last he shouted, and Houston hurried to him, to find the giant digging excitedly at a lodgepole.

"I have foun' another!" The knife, deep in the tree, had scratched on metal.

Five minutes more and they had discovered a third one, farther away.