Harry gave him a quick look.
"Go in and strip yourself," he said. "There's a blanket forward and some coffee in the can. I'll be down by the time you have wrung out your things."
On crawling into the cabin Frank found the stove burning fiercely with the register open full blast. He was sitting near it wrapped in a thick blanket from which his bare legs and arms protruded when Harry joined him.
"This should thaw you out," the latter said. "The place would do for drying fruit in. Got any coffee left?"
Frank gave him some, and when he had drunk it Harry examined some of the garments which were hanging about the stove.
"They'll be getting fairly dry in half an hour or so and then we'll pull out for home," he added. "It's breezing up quite smart now and I'd lie here until morning only aunt would get badly scared. She wouldn't say anything, but if Jake got to talking it would probably make trouble when dad comes home."
"How did the canoe get adrift?" Frank inquired sleepily.
"That," said Harry with an excellent imitation of Mr. Barclay's manner, "is a point I have been investigating. To begin with, the killick had been hauled up since we pitched it over, and let go again—only on the last occasion it was made fast so it wouldn't quite fetch the bottom." He raised his hand in protest as Frank was about to speak. "It's a sure thing. One strand was chafed where I took a turn with the rope, and that frayed bit had got moved a fathom or two along. I felt about until I struck it."
Frank started, for this confirmed a hazy suspicion which had already been in his mind, but he stooped to pat the dog, who was licking his uncovered foot.
"Hold on. Your tongue's rough," he said before he looked up at his companion. "What do you make of the thing?"
"Well," said Harry, "the man who did it wanted it to look as if the canoe had gone adrift by accident. He was on the island when we came along and the dog got after him. It's most likely he went off in a boat or canoe while we were making for the beach after we'd heard the barking. Seems to me he'd some reason for wanting to keep us here."
"You think he was one of the dope men?" suggested Frank.
"I wouldn't be greatly astonished if we saw the schooner on our way home," Harry answered with a chuckle.
There was some excuse for his amusement, because Frank looked somewhat ludicrous as he sat thinking hard with his brows wrinkled down and the blanket falling away from him.
"I've an idea," he announced at length. "The question, of course, is why should the man who set the canoe adrift have landed on a desolate place like this? I expect it's just its desolateness that brought him here. Now the smugglers probably find it difficult to get hold of the dope in Canada, and they may have to save it up in small parcels until it's worth while to send the schooner through. She couldn't come often with only a case or two, because it wouldn't pay and it would increase the chances of somebody's seeing her. On the other hand, they may not be able to get rid of the stuff immediately when she brings a big lot, and in that case they'd be likely to make a cache of part of it where nobody would be likely to strike it and their friendscould come for it later. This island ought to be just the place."
Harry made a sign of assent.
"I guess you've hit it first time, but I'll go up and get the mainsail on her. I can manage it alone with two reefs in, and you can stay where you are until your clothes are a little drier, unless I call you."
He went out, and Frank heard a clatter of blocks and flutter of canvas. After that there was a sharp rattling as Harry hauled in the anchor chain, and then the boat suddenly slanted over with a jerk which flung Frank backward against the side of her. As he got up he heard the water splash about her bows. A few minutes later they began to swing sharply up and down, and the thuds against them made it evident that the sloop was plunging close-hauled through a short, head sea. By and by the plunges grew more violent, and struggling into his clothes, which were partly dry, Frank put out the lamp and crawled out into the well. For a minute or two he could see nothing as he held on by the weather coaming, though he felt the buffeting of the wind and the sting of the spray upon his face. Then by degrees he made out that the sloop was lying down on one side, with the small black strip of her double-reefed mainsail slanting sharply above her, and a filmy white cloud flying at her bows. Suddenly the frothing water began to glitter, and on looking up he saw that the moon, which had grown brighter, had just emerged from behind a bank of flying cloud. Then Harry who sat at the helm called to him.
"Look yonder! Just over the bowsprit end," he cried.
Frank, gazing where his companion told him, saw a bright red twinkle low down above the sea and apparently two or three miles away.
"A fire!" he exclaimed. "On the island by the point, isn't it?"
"A signal," Harry assented. "Guess it's to show theschooner men the bush gang are ready." He broke into a laugh which reached Frank faintly. "They're figuring we're safe on the island out of the way. You couldn't see that fire from the beach we were left upon."
"What are you going to do?"
"Stand right on to where the fire is. We have to make a long leg on this tack, anyway. When we're close up with the point we'll consider. Get a little more head sheet in if you can."
It cost Frank an effort, though the sloop was carrying her smallest jib, and when he had made the rope fast he crouched beside his comrade in the partial shelter of the coaming with the dog at his feet. It was blowing moderately fresh, and the sloop was very wet, for the tide was running with her and she thrashed on at a great pace pitching the water all over, while the red twinkle ahead grew steadily higher and brighter. It was the only thing that Frank could see, because the moon had disappeared again.
In the meanwhile he wondered what his companion meant to do, for he fancied that Harry had something in his mind. The latter was like his father in some respects, since he did not, as a rule, explain what his intentions were until he was reasonably sure that he could carry them out. One result of this was that while each seldom did less than he said he would he not infrequently did a good deal more. Folks of this kind, Frank reflected, inspired one with confidence.
At last, when the fire was large and bright, a head loomed up above it with the wavering glow falling upon its rocky face. On one side of the crag there was a strip of darkness, which Frank supposed was water, and a little nearer him a long shadowy patch, which he knew to be an island. He turned to Harry, who was just then glancing up at the sky.
"We'll run right into the light if you stand on much longer," he pointed out.
He had hardly spoken when the red blaze sank down amidst an upward rush of sparks, and as it died away Harry laughed.
"That means one of two things," he said. "Either they've given the schooner up, or she has her anchor down inside and they've no more use for a light that might set folks wondering, though I don't know that anybody would be likely to see it."
"Anyway, you'll go ashore if you stand on," persisted Frank.
"It's not my intention that we should stand on," said Harry, glancing up again at the cloud-barred sky. "We can just weather the island as she's lying, and when that's done I could put up my helm and run through the sound behind it. I'll do it if the moon keeps in. If the schooner's inside yonder we ought to see her."
Frank was rather staggered by the boldness of the idea. The strait seemed narrow and he fancied that it would be further contracted by shallows now that the tide was getting low, while it appeared very probable that if they saw the schooner her crew would see them. If she were landing cargo there would be boats about, and he did not think it would be pleasant to fall in with them, after the pains somebody had taken in setting the canoe adrift. Still, though he was very dubious about its wisdom, the prospect of the adventure appealed to him and Harry seemed to take his consent for granted.
"We'll carry a fair wind through," the latter announced. "If it's necessary we could lower the peak down and that would leave very little canvas to be seen. You had better shorten the canoe up while I luff. She's half full and towing heavily."
The mainsail thrashed and the speed slackened when he put down his helm, and Frank, hauling with all his might, dragged the canoe up a little closer astern and made her fast with a shorter rope, after which Harry got way on the boat again. It seemed to Frank to beblowing harder, and she swayed down farther, plunging furiously through the short seas with a white belt of surf which had shadowy rocks behind it to lee of her. The moon was still hidden, but it was evident that they were very close to the end of the island. By and by the white line to lee suddenly vanished and they stretched out into the dark water, with a high, black mass not far ahead.
"We've got to jibe her," said Harry. "Get the peak down."
The deck was horribly slanted and slippery, but Frank made his way forward along it while the seas which seemed steeper there drenched him with showers of cold brine. He found the halliard and let it go, and scrambling aft as the head of the sail swung down, helped his companion, who was struggling with a rope, while he jammed the tiller over with his shoulder.
"Handy!" cried Harry. "You must check the boom as it comes over."
The craft was coming round with her stern to the wind, and as she did so the canoe came up on the top of a sea and struck her with a crash. Frank had, however, no thought to spare for her. He was dragging at the mainsheet as the big boom tilted up into the darkness above his head, while the sloop rolled heavily. Then the upper part of the bagging sail swung over with a bang and he whipped the rope around something as the heavy spar followed it. The sloop rolled at the same time until half her deck was in the sea, the sheet was torn furiously through his hands, and the canoe hit her with another heavy thud as she swayed up again. Then it drove astern, and Frank had space to gather his breath and look about him as they swept on into smoother water.
Harry was edging in toward the low black ridge of the island, and there was a higher mass on the opposite side crested with what appeared to be rows of pines, with adark gap between them. They could now hear the surf on the weather side of the island, which told them that they were already behind it. Four or five minutes later the channel twisted, and as they swept around a black rock two or three lights blinked out ahead, with a low red blaze behind them, apparently on the opposite beach.
"There she is; ready to clear at the shortest notice," said Harry, stretching out a pointing hand. "They've kept the boom-foresail and most of the mainsail on her, though I guess the anchor's down. We'll get the centerboard up."
They were drawing nearer the lights rapidly, but it was two or three minutes before Frank, who heaved the board up into its case, could make out a black mass of fluttering canvas against the sky. Then Harry spoke again:
"There's a shingle bank runs out not far ahead and there can't be much water over it now the tide's nearly run out. I'm afraid I'll have to pass on the other hand of the schooner."
Frank could understand why he did not want to do this, since the channel was narrow and they must pass between the lights of the vessel and the fire upon the beach. It seemed to him that it would be singularly awkward if they met a boat coming from or going to the latter, which, however, was precisely what befell them.
Harry ran the sloop off as far as he dared, and Frank was watching the schooner's black hull rise higher when he made out a dim shape that moved between her and the beach.
"A boat, sure!" cried Harry. "Get the mainsheet in. We'll have to take our chances of the shoal."
He helped Frank with one hand, but the task was almost beyond their strength, and while they dragged at the rope the half-seen boat and the schooner seemedto be flying toward them. Then as they made the rope fast and the sloop headed in toward the island a pale gleam from a light on the vessel fell upon her. It seemed impossible to Frank that they should not be seen, but nobody hailed them, and while he listened, expecting every moment to hear a shout, a clatter of blocks broke through the splash of approaching oars. Even behind the island, the water was rather broken and the men seemed to be pulling hard.
A moment later the light faded off the sloop, though Frank could see the schooner comparatively plainly. Her tall, shadowy canvas was fluttering athwart the light, and beneath it a cluster of indistinct figures rose and fell as they heaved up something with a tackle. He could hear their voices clearly, and he was glad to remember that the dusky ridge of the island rose behind the sloop, though he wished his companion would run closer in with it. He had seen all he wanted and only desired to get away as soon as possible.
It became evident by and by that Harry had run in closer than was advisable, for there was a crash and the sloop suddenly stopped. Almost immediately afterward she lay over with her boom and most of her deck on one side in the water, while the tide, twisting her bows around, threatened to pour into her over the depressed coaming. As she had come up nearly head to wind, her mainsail thrashed furiously, jerking the boom up out of the sea every now and then and letting it splash in again, while the flapping jib seemed likely to snap off the head of her rattling mast. Loose ropes appeared to be flying everywhere and Frank clung stupidly to the coaming, uncertain what to do. They were aground unfortunately close to the schooner, and, he feared, within sight of the men on board her. Harry's voice, however, roused him to make an effort.
"Jump forward with the big oar! We must get her off," he said. "The tide's still falling."
Frank trod upon and fell over the dog, who fortunately was unable to see anything over the coaming. He scarcely heard it yelping as he scrambled along the steeply slanted deck dragging the heavy oar. They got it over and thrust upon it in desperate haste in an attempt to cant her bow off, but as the tide swung her farther around her side came up against the oar, threatening to break it or pitch the boys over the rail, and for a while they strained every muscle in vain. Then she suddenly swung back in the midst of a furious swirl, and Frank fell down on something that seemed unpleasantly hard. Harry, flinging the oar upon the deck, dropped close by, feeling for a rope.
"Get up and get hold!" he cried breathlessly. "We must box her round with the jib. You can lie down afterward."
Frank scrambled up and pulled in a frenzy, and the boat swung farther around. Then the mainsail ceased fluttering, and jumping aft they fell into the well, where Frank fancied that he trod upon the dog again. Harry immediately seized the tiller, thrusting it to weather, and the sloop commenced to move slowly through the water, though there was a harsh grinding beneath her. By and by she suddenly shot forward again.
"She's off!" exclaimed Harry. "Give her sheet!"
Frank let the mainsheet run and afterward leaned breathlessly upon the coaming with a thrill of relief as they drove out into the deeper water; but it appeared that his companion was not satisfied yet.
"She should run over to the opposite side without bringing the boom across," he said. "There seems to be a big rock yonder and we could heave her to in the gloom of it. If I remember, it's good water."
"What for?" asked Frank, who was anxious to get out of the channel.
"Well," said Harry, "we've seen the schooner, a boat, and a fire upon the beach, but, after all, that's nota great deal to go upon. We want to make sure what she's putting ashore."
The boom lifted ominously as he ran her off and Frank fancied that somebody would certainly hear the crash if he jibed it over. She stretched across, however, and, rounding her up close beneath a dark rock, they hauled the jib to windward and waited. Though they were in deep shadow, a stream of flickering radiance fell upon the water not far away and lighted up a narrow strip of beach. A few minutes passed and then Harry touched his companion, who saw several men cross the shingle with loads upon their shoulders. Their figures showed black against the light, and Frank fancied that they were carrying square wooden cases. After them came several more figures, but these carried nothing and were dressed differently. They looked like Chinamen and they had evidently just got out of an unseen boat.
"Now," said Harry, "I guess that will do. If you'll trim the jib over I'll get way on her."
Frank was glad to do it. He felt that he had seen quite enough and it would be wiser to get away before any misadventure befell them. They ran out of the channel and were thrashing close-hauled into a rather steep head sea when Harry spoke again.
"There were four cases in the last lot, and another boat went ashore," he observed. "It looks as if they would swamp the market. Dope's dear, and a little of it goes a mighty long way."
"Perhaps there was something else in some of the cases," suggested Frank.
"It's possible, though from the little I know of the tariff I haven't an idea of what it could be. Anyway, that's a proposition we can leave to Barclay. They were certainly Chinamen and passengers who landed."
"How do you know they were passengers?" Frank inquired.
Harry laughed. "If they'd been anything else they'dhave had to carry those boxes. As a general thing, an American doesn't work while a Chinaman watches him."
Nothing more was said, and half an hour later when pale moonlight once more streamed down upon the water the schooner swept out of the gloom astern of them. After that they went about and clung to the shadow along the land until they lost sight of her shortly before they ran into the cove.
It was very late when they reached the ranch, but they merely informed Miss Oliver that they had had some trouble through the canoe going adrift and had been compelled to beat back against a strong head wind.
Mr. Oliver came home soon after the boys' visit to the island, and when he had heard Harry's narration of their adventures he made him tell it over again in the presence of Mr. Barclay, whom he had brought back with him. They were sitting in the log-walled kitchen in the evening with their chairs drawn up about the stove, and Mr. Barclay, holding his pipe in his hand, listened gravely.
"Well," he said, when Harry had finished, "you seem to be considerably more fortunate in these matters than I am. You have seen the schooner several times, and other interesting things, while I haven't even had a glimpse of the man with the high shoulder yet. I suppose I'll have to admit at last that I've been upon his trail for some time and have made some progress."
"You might as well have admitted it in the beginning," retorted Harry. "Some folks progress slow."
Mr. Barclay's eyes twinkled. "As a rule, it's difficult to hustle the Government of the United States, and I'm inclined to think the same thing applies to that of other countries. However, as I said, we have got ahead a little at the other end. For example, we have a tolerably accurate notion where the dope goes."
"Then why don't you corral everybody who has anything to do with it?"
Mr. Barclay's gesture seemed to beg the boy's forbearance.
"It's a sensible question. For one thing, strictly speaking, it's not my particular business which is reallyto sit in an office and dictate instructions most of the time. To some extent, these jaunts I've had with your father have been undertaken by way of innocent relaxation, although they may prove useful in case certain gentlemen send me along a list of peremptory questions on which they want reports. They do things of that kind now and then."
"I didn't think it was your business to take a smuggler by the neck and haul him along to the sheriff," said Harry with a reproachful air. "Still, you could call out your subordinates and send them off to round up the dope crowd, couldn't you? There must be some official machinery for doing that kind of thing."
"There is," assented Mr. Barclay, refilling his pipe. "The trouble is that it makes a certain amount of commotion, and when silence is important you have to be careful how you set it to work. As a rule, it's wiser to have everything ready first. The most careful plans fail sometimes if your assistants are more keen than judicious. That"—and he smiled at the boys—"is why I was dubious about taking you into my confidence before."
"Thank you, sir," said Harry with ironical courtesy. "Do you mind making what you mean to do a little plainer?"
"I'll try. In the first place, smuggling doesn't seem to be considered a crime unless you're caught at it. In fact, a Government of any kind is generally looked upon as fair game, and few people think much the worse of a man who succeeds in doing it out of part of its revenue. How far that idea's right or wrong doesn't concern me. What I must do is to prevent it from being acted on too often, and, taking the notion for granted; we don't want to put the laugh upon ourselves if it can be avoided."
Harry made a sign of comprehension. "Still, if you sent your people down here they should be able to corral part of the gang."
"I agree with you," Barclay answered dryly. "It's possible, anyway—but what would the result be? Three or four persons of no importance might be seized, the rest would get away with a warning, and our plans would all be sprung." Then the stout, good-humored man seemed to change, for his expression suddenly hardened and a look which the boys had never noticed there before crept into his eyes. "No, sir. We want them all, and when we move we expect to gather in the whole rascally combination."
"How can we butt in?"
"With your father's permission, you might, in the first place, invite me to an evening's flight shooting."
"Wouldn't it be better to go across the island in the daytime with the dog and Jake and a couple of spades?"
"No," replied Mr. Barclay. "If my opinion's of any value, I don't think it would be wise. Besides, I understand that the best time for getting a shot at flighting ducks is in the twilight."
Miss Oliver laughed softly. "Enterprise is a good thing, and so is self-confidence," she broke in. "On the other hand, I fancy that one can have too much of them, and a headstrong impatience is one of the faults of the young West."
Mr. Oliver looked at Harry, who grew a trifle red.
"There's truth in that," he remarked. "On the whole it might be better to leave all arrangements to the man in charge and just do what he suggests."
"Sure," assented Harry, and as he offered no more suggestions the matter was decided with a few more words.
Late in the next afternoon the boys set out with Mr. Barclay in the sloop, and as what wind there was blew off the land they crept along close in with the beach, which was high and rocky and shrouded with thick timber. When they drew abreast of the island the tide was higher than it had been on the last occasion, butMr. Barclay said that they had better leave the sloop in the little bay in front of them and cross the channel in the canoe. He was a heavy man, and when he cautiously dropped into the craft her stern sank ominously near the water.
"You'll have to get farther forward and sit quite still," said Harry in a tone of authority, but with an amused look.
He took his place astern with Frank, who picked up the other paddle, in the bow, and a stroke or two drove them out into the rippling tide. It was growing dark, though the sky overhead was softly blue and there was a glimmer of pale saffron around part of the horizon. To the eastward the moon was just appearing above a bank of cloud. The wind, which had freshened, blew very cold, and Frank shivered until the paddling warmed him and he found that he could spare no thought for anything else. The tide was running over the shallows with a ripple that splashed perilously high about the side of the deeply loaded canoe, and now and then whirling eddies drove them off their course. Once, too, they ran aground, and Harry had to get in knee-deep to shove the craft off, while when they approached the end of the island they had to struggle hard for several minutes against the stream which broke into little frothing waves, during which the canoe got very wet. They came through, however, and reaching smoother water ran the canoe in and pulled her out, after which Frank was about to walk off up the beach when Harry stopped him.
"One learns by experience, and I don't feel like swimming," he observed. "We'll carry her right up and hide her in the bushes."
They did so with some difficulty and Harry afterward waited until Mr. Barclay spoke.
"We came out shooting," said the latter. "I don't see any reason why we shouldn't get a duck."
He turned to Harry, as if to ascertain whether he objected to this, but the boy laughed.
"If you don't know of any, I needn't bother about the thing," he answered. "There's a moderate breeze right off the beach and the guns couldn't be heard far to windward."
"I'm not sure I'd mind them being heard if anybody chanced to be about. It might save the inquisitive stranger from wondering what we were doing here, and the excuse strikes me as a nicer one than going swimming late at night in front of a Siwash rancherie."
Harry chuckled. "Wait until you fall over your boot tops into a pool, or follow a crippled duck through the water."
"I shall endeavor to avoid the first thing," said Mr. Barclay. "There's a remedy for the other, so long as I've two assistants."
They went back to the beach and waited there some time until Frank heard a regular beat of wings, and a drawn-out wedge of dusky bodies appeared above the trees dotted upon the sky. He was farthest from them and he watched Mr. Barclay, who had brought a gun with him, standing, an indistinct, half-seen figure thirty or forty yards away. At last the man threw up his arms, there was a quick yellow flash, a crash, and then a second streak of flame leaping from the smoke. After that there followed two distinct and unmistakable thuds, and Frank pitched up his gun as Harry fired. He heard two jarring reports and running forward saw Mr. Barclay pick up a bird that had fallen almost at his feet.
"There's another over yonder," the latter remarked.
Harry found it in a minute or two and handed it to him.
"One with each barrel!" he said, and added with a rueful laugh, "I don't see any more about."
"Then I think we'll take a look around the island," Mr. Barclay answered.
He left the beach with the boys, but they dropped behind him and let him take the lead when they reached the scrubby firs which were scattered more or less thickly about the rocky ground. Frank fancied that Harry had some reason for doing this and the supposition was confirmed when Mr. Barclay stopped a moment beside a brake of withered fern and then, after stooping down, carefully skirted it as he went on again. The sky was clear, and though the moon was in its first quarter it shed a faint elusive light.
"That man can shoot, and it looks as if he was quite as smart at picking up a trail," said Harry in a low tone. "Anyway, if I'd been looking for a stranger's tracks I'd have tried yonder fern and I'd have been as particular not to smash any of it down as he was. I've an idea he must have chuckled sometimes when I got guying him." He paused and added thoughtfully, "It's the kind of fool thing you're apt to do unless you're careful."
After this they spent a considerable time wandering up and down a portion of the island, though Frank fancied that Mr. Barclay, who asked Harry a question now and then, had some purpose that guided him. The moonlight was too dim and the shadows among the trees too dense for him to follow a trail steadily, but he seemed to be prospecting for likely places where footprints or broken-down undergrowth might be found. At length they reached a little stony hollow, with a rock that rose some six or seven feet on one side and dark firs clustering close about it. Here Mr. Barclay stopped and looked about him before he turned to Harry.
"Now," he said, "this is a spot that could be easily described and located by anybody who happened to be told about it. That rock would make a first-class mark. If you had anything to bury for somebody else to dig up, where would you put it?"
Harry walked about the place, stepping carefully uponthe stones and avoiding the scattered underbrush, until he reached a clump of withered fern.
"Right here," he replied, and kneeling down pulled some of the yellow fronds about. Then he looked up sharply. "This stuff's very dead and it's lying flat," he exclaimed. "Farther on the stems aren't broken and some of them don't seem quite dried up yet."
Frank acknowledged that these were things he would not have noticed, but Mr. Barclay nodded.
"Somebody else may have fixed on the same spot as you have done," he said. "It's possible, though I don't think it's more than that. There might be half a dozen similar places on the island, but if you'll handle the fern carefully it wouldn't do any harm to make a hole."
They had brought a light spade with them, and after Harry had cleared the ground Frank set to work with it. He had taken out only a few shovelfuls of soil and shingle when he gave a cry of surprise as he struck something that seemed more solid.
Harry and Mr. Barclay stooped down beside him. The latter struck a match and lighted a piece of paper he took from his pocket, and before it went out Frank had cleared the soil away from the top of a small wooden case.
"It's rather more than I could have reasonably expected," said Mr. Barclay, "but when you haven't much to act upon it's wise to make the most of what you've got and leave the rest to chance. Now you may as well shovel that dirt back."
"Aren't you going to take the thing out?" Frank asked in astonishment.
"No," replied Mr. Barclay, "I don't think it's necessary. It wouldn't be the first time I'd seen opium and we don't want to leave too plain a trail behind us. As we have spent some time on the island already, hadn't you better get to work?"
Frank flung back the soil and when he had finished Harry replaced the loose fern which he had carefully laid aside. He did not, however, seem satisfied with the way he had arranged it and when he looked up at Mr. Barclay his manner was diffident.
"I'm afraid I can't do any better in the dark," he said.
"It will probably be dark when the next man comes along," Mr. Barclay answered. "Anyway, the first breeze of wind or heavy rain will straighten things up. In the meanwhile we'll get back to the sloop."
They turned away, but they had scarcely gone a hundred yards when Mr. Barclay put his hand into his pocket and stopped.
"I've dropped my pipe," he said. "It was rather a good one."
"Then I know where it is," Frank broke in. "You must have pulled it out with the paper. I heard something fall, but I was too interested to bother about it. If you'll wait, I'll go back and get it."
The others sat down when he left them, but he spent some minutes scrambling about near the fern before the faint gleam of a silver band upon the pipe caught his eye. Picking it up he turned back to rejoin his companions, and a few moments later he reached an opening between the firs by which they had left the hollow. The trees rose in black and shadowy masses on either side, but their ragged tops cut sharply against the sky, and a faint, uncertain light shone down into the gap between them. Soon after he strode into it Frank stopped abruptly, for there was a crackle of dry twigs and a soft rustle somewhere in front of him, and he could think of no reason why Harry or Mr. Barclay should come back. If they had wanted him to do anything they could have called him.
He felt his nerves tingle as he stood and listened. The sound had ceased and he could only hear the wind amongthe firs whose tops rustled eerily. But presently the unmistakable fall of a heavy foot came out of the shadows. Then he shrank back instinctively a pace or two into deeper gloom, for there was no doubt that somebody was approaching, and while he waited a black figure appeared in the opening not far in front of him. The faint light was behind the man and he showed up against it dim and indistinct, but Frank realized that he was not Mr. Barclay. He looked taller and less heavily built. Then the boy dropped noiselessly and held his breath, for a brittle branch had cracked under him. The stranger stopped and seemed to be gazing about him.
He moved on again, however, and Frank turned his face toward the ground, fearing that it might show white in the gloom, but it was only by a determined effort that he held himself still and mastered the desire to crawl back farther into the shadow. He knew that if he yielded to it he would be on his feet in another moment and might break away into the bush or do something else which he would afterward regret. He realized that Mr. Barclay and Harry must have seen the stranger and had for some reason kept out of sight and let him go by.
In the meanwhile the man was drawing nearer and Frank made out that he was carrying something. It seemed almost impossible that he could pass without seeing the boy, and the effort it cost the latter to lie still became more arduous. It would have been an unspeakable relief even to spring up and face the stranger with empty hands. Then he drew level, and once more Frank set his lips as he listened to the footsteps. At every moment he expected them suddenly to stop. They continued, however, and although, since he dared not turn, he could not see the man now, it was clear that he had passed.
Frank waited a minute or two longer and then rose softly with a gasp of fervent relief. He was annoyed to feel that he was still quivering with the tension andhe stood still a few moments to regain his composure before he went quietly back toward his companions. As he neared the spot where he had left them Mr. Barclay stepped out from behind a tree.
"You met that man?" he asked.
"Yes," said Frank, "that is, I saw him coming and kept out of the way. He walked close by me and I think he was carrying a spade."
"He was," Mr. Barclay assented. "I was afraid he might surprise you, but we couldn't shout and warn you without alarming him, which I didn't want to do for one or two reasons. We'll wait here until he's through with the business that brought him."
He drew Frank farther back among the trees and soon after they sat down a faint rustling followed by a clatter of stones reached them from the hollow. There was no doubt that the man was digging up the case. Harry, who was lying near Frank's feet, moved restlessly and at length he rose.
"That fellow's certainly one of the gang," he said. "I don't see why we shouldn't get him. Frank and I could work around behind the hollow and head him off while you walk in."
"Well," said Mr. Barclay dryly, "what would follow?"
"You could have him sent up."
"I daresay I could. What would be the use of it?"
"You'd have got one of them, anyway."
"Sure," said Mr. Barclay, "and I'd have scared off all the rest. I suppose I must be greedy, but I wouldn't be content with one bush chopper who probably only takes a hand in now and then. As I believe I told you, I'm after the whole gang."
Harry said nothing further for a while, and then he stopped and listened.
"He's coming back," he whispered.
The sound of footsteps came out of the shadow, andpresently Frank saw a dusky figure pass among the trees carrying something upon its shoulder besides the spade. They waited until there was silence again and then moved quietly back to the beach, from which they saw a canoe cross the channel. Half an hour later they paddled across and duly reached the sloop.
"If that man had known she was here he would probably not have gone," Mr. Barclay observed. "As he didn't see her when there was a little light left, it's reasonable to suppose he couldn't have noticed her coming back in the dark, and on the whole I'm satisfied with the result of the trip. But it might be better if you went somewhere else for your flight shooting after this."
Then they set the mainsail and started back for the cove, keeping close in along the beach.
A month passed, which the boys spent quietly in grubbing up stumps and chopping. Then Mr. Oliver suggested that they go over to Mr. Webster's ranch and burn off his slashing, as he had promised its absent owner to send them. He added that they could camp there for the night and get a little hunting when they had done the work. There was a nipping air when they started early in the morning, each with a packet of provisions and a blanket upon his shoulder, and the newly turned clods in the clearing were iron-hard. The Pacific Slope is warmer in winter than the Atlantic coast, but there are times when the cold snaps are sharp enough in its northern part, and the boys were glad to plunge into the shelter of the woods where the frost was less stinging.
They reached the ranch without much trouble, and when they stopped at the slip rails Frank, who had not been there before, looked about him. The bush clearings are much alike, but this one was smaller than Mr. Oliver's. A little, very rudely built log house stood at one end with thick timber creeping close up behind it. There was also an unusual quantity of underbrush among the stumps near the door, which Frank had occasion to notice more particularly later. In the meanwhile it struck him that the place had an uncared-for look and Harry seemed to share his opinion.
"Webster's a very ordinary rancher," he remarked. "He can't stay with a thing and finish it. When he's about halfway through he lets up and starts somethingelse. Any other man would have grubbed out all that withered stuff about the house and chopped back the bush behind it. It's not safe to have big trees growing so close."
"Why?" asked Frank.
"Because of the fires. They come along every now and then. It's lucky there's no wind to speak of, because I wouldn't put a light to this slashing if there was."
Frank glanced at the belt of fallen timber behind the fence on one side of the clearing. It had been badly cut and some of the trees lay across each other, while only a few of the branches had been sawed off and the undergrowth had not been mowed. If the fall had not been a dry one it would have been difficult to burn the slashing. Then he glanced up at the leaden-gray sky above the pine tops and fancied that it looked threatening. The dense wall of somber sprays seemed unusually harsh of aspect, and there was something curious about the light. Everything was gray and raw-edged, and he shivered, for the faint wind had blown across a wilderness of snowy mountains.
"It's not the kind of day for hanging round," he said. "Let's get to work."
Entering the house they found a can of coal oil and plenty of rags, for a heap of worn-out clothing lay in a corner.
"They'll hold oil and that's about all they're good for," Harry remarked. "I expect it's months since Webster pitched them there with the idea that he might mend them sometime."
Frank carried out one or two of the duck garments, and when they had torn them up and soaked them in coal oil he and Harry set about lighting fires here and there in the slashing, after which they stood near the door of the house and watched the conflagration. The fires spread rapidly, and one side of the clearing wassoon wrapped in crackling flame that worked backward from the neighborhood of the fence, licking up branches and undergrowth as it neared the bush. That did not stop it, for the fire had flung out advance guards which leaped forward swiftly through the withered fern and hurled themselves in crimson waves upon the standing trunks. They seemed to splash upon them, flinging up fountains of blazing brands and sparks that seized upon the lower sprays and sprang aloft until each assaulted tree was wrapped in fire from base to summit. The conflagration made the draught it needed, and by and by it roared in what seemed to Frank malicious triumph as it pressed onward into the forest under a cloud of rolling smoke. Where it would stop he did not know, but he was almost uncomfortably impressed by the spectacle.
"It's a full-power burn," said Harry approvingly. "Guess it's going to clean up this slashing. And now we'll look around and see if Webster's left anything we can make our dinner in."
There was a stove in the house, but they soon discovered that it did not burn well, and Harry glanced disgustedly at the spider Frank discovered.
"A hole in the bottom of it!" he said contemptuously. "That's the kind of thing Webster uses. I'll be astonished if you don't find another hole in the kettle. You had better go along to the well and fill it."
In a few minutes Frank came back with the kettle, which fortunately did not leak, and Harry set it on the stove and laid a piece of pork in the spider, which he tilted on one side.
"It's going to be about an hour before that kettle boils, and, though I feel like doing it, there's no use in straightening up this shack in the meanwhile because the man would muss it up again as soon as he comes back. There's a slough beyond the rise yonder, and asit lies to windward we might get a shot at something. We could be back before dinner's ready."
Frank would have preferred to stay where he was, as he had already done a good morning's work. He assented, however, and accompanied Harry up a steep and very rough slope and down the opposite side of it. When they reached the bottom they plunged into a waste of tall grass and half-decayed vegetation among the roots of which the frost had not penetrated. As the result of this they sank to the knees here and there, and Frank more than once fell down. He soon had enough of it, but he was beginning to realize that there was very little worth doing in the bush which could be accomplished, so to speak, with one's gloves on. The small rancher and hunter must expect to get wet and ragged, as well as weary and dirty, and must face the unpleasantness cheerfully and mend his clothes afterward. The only other course was to stay in the cities.
Presently Harry discovered the tracks of a deer leading out of the valley and pointed them out to his companion.
"You won't mind waiting for your dinner?" he asked.
"No—not very much," Frank answered dubiously.
This satisfied Harry, who led the way up the hillside, and it seemed to Frank that they scrambled over fallen logs and branches and through thick undergrowth for the greater part of an hour before they crept carefully down again to another hollow. Though they floundered all around it there was no sign of the deer, and Frank was relieved when his companion intimated that they might as well go back to the ranch. Dinner was the first thought in both their minds when they reached it, but it struck Frank that the fire had become a tremendous conflagration and he noticed that a dense cloud of smoke was blowing across the clearing.
"It's a real fierce burn and there's more wind thanthere was, but we'll get a meal before we look around," Harry remarked.
There were, however, one or two difficulties in the way of their doing this. The kettle had boiled nearly dry, and the pork had disappeared through the burned-out bottom of the spider. Harry said that he could manage to fry another piece on the rim of it if Frank would refill the kettle, and eventually they sat down to dinner and spent a long while over it. Then Harry got up reluctantly.
"I guess we had better see what the fire's doing," he observed.
Frank was almost appalled when he reached the doorway. The whole clearing was thick with smoke, out of which there shot up a furious wall of fire that rose and fell with a crackle resembling volleys of riflery and a roaring even more disconcerting. What was worse, it seemed to be creeping into the thick bush behind the house, and Harry, running a few paces toward the corner of the building, stopped aghast with the red light flickering on his dismayed face.
"Dad promised he'd get Webster's slashing burned, but it wasn't in the contract that we'd burn off his house," he said. "We'll have to hustle. See if there's an ax and grubhoe in that woodshed."
Frank found the tools, and while he attacked the larger bushes near the back of the house, Harry began to cut down the undergrowth in front of it. By and by Frank came back and they dragged the brush away toward the clearing where it could burn harmlessly, but the smoke grew more blinding and every now and then a shower of sparks fell about the boys. Fires sprang up among the underbrush, and falling upon them with the ax and spade they savagely thrashed them out. Frank burned his hands in doing so, but there was no time to trouble about that and he toiled on, coughingand choking, until at last they were forced to stop for breath.
They stood close in front of the house, with a mass of withered fern and half-burned brush smoldering in front of them, while a sheet of fire rose and fell amidst dense clouds of smoke behind the building. The daylight appeared to be dying out, but Frank could not be sure of that, because it was almost dark one moment as the smoke rolled about them and the next they stood dazzled by a flood of radiance.
"We have done 'most all we can," said Harry wearily. "It was the wind getting up that made the trouble—I should have noticed it—but if it stands for the next half hour we ought to save the house. The fire's eating back into the bush all the while."
"Should we get any of the things out?" Frank asked.
"I'm not smart at handling hot stoves, and there's mighty little else in the place," Harry answered with a laugh. "I wouldn't bid a dollar for Webster's pans and crockery, and he made the table and the two chairs. Still, I don't know any reason why we shouldn't sling them out."
Just then the smoke rolled down about the boys in a blinding cloud; there was a great snapping and crackling, and a shower of blazing fragments drove them back thirty or forty yards across the clearing. Presently the smoke thinned, and a row of stripped trunks behind the house was outlined against a tremendous sheet of flame. Frank took off his hat and shook a few red embers from the crown of it.
"When we were getting those rags I noticed a keg behind them," he said.
"A keg?" said Harry sharply.
"A little keg. It looked thick and strongly made."
The red light struck full upon Harry's face, and Frank saw that consternation was stamped upon it.
"Then," he said, "it's full of coarse, tree-splitting powder. Some of the ranchers use it for blowing out stumps. Did you notice whether it had been opened?"
"The head seemed loose and one of the hoops had been started."
"Sure!" said Harry with dismay in his voice. Then he broke out in quick anger: "It's just the kind of thing Webster would leave lying around near his stove, without taking the trouble to head it up again. He'll have some detonators lying loose, too—I've heard he uses giant powder. We've got to bring them out."
They looked at each other with set faces while the sparks whirled about the house, and both were conscious of an almost uncontrollable impulse to vacate the clearing with the greatest possible speed. It was to their credit that they mastered it, and in a moment or two Harry spoke again:
"The sparks shouldn't get at the keg if we put a jacket over it, and one of us could carry all the detonators Webster's likely to have in his pocket."
Frank had heard that the big copper caps which are used to fire giant powder will contain a tremendously powerful fulminate, and he was conscious of a very natural reluctance to carry a number of them about his person through the showers of fiery particles that fell about the building. Indeed, he afterward confessed that if Harry had not been with him nothing would have induced him to approach it. How he screwed up his courage he did not know, but as the flame leaped up again the sight of a strip of blazing fence had its effect. The rest of it had been destroyed, and he felt they must make an effort to save the house.
"It wouldn't take us long to get the powder out," he said with a note of uncertainty in his voice.
Harry sprang forward and Frank was glad that he did so. He realized that this was not a matter for calm discussion, and vigorous action was a relief. Anothercloud of smoke met them as they drew near the house, and the sparks that came flying out of it fell thick about them. The heat scorched their faces and they gasped in the acrid vapor, while Frank's eyes were smarting intolerably when he staggered into the building. There was, however, less smoke inside it, and a fierce light beat in through one window. Flinging the old clothes about they came upon the keg and found that the head was lying loose. Working in desperate haste they forced the top hoop upward and Harry wrapped a woolen garment over the top of the keg. After that he flung everything in a lidless wooden case out upon the floor and pounced upon a little box that fell among the rest.
"Detonators!" he shouted. "What's in the packet near you?"
Frank tore the paper savagely. "It looks like thick black cord."
"Fuse," said Harry. "It's harmless. I don't see any giant powder. Hold on. I'll look around his sleeping room."
He vanished through an inner door and Frank soon heard him throwing things about. The suspense of the next few moments was almost unbearable. A pulsating radiance alternately lighted up the room and grew dim again, and the roar and crackle of the fire set his nerves tingling. Then Harry ran back toward him.
"I can't find any giant powder," he reported, and added, "get hold of the keg. We'll carry it between us."
Frank set his lips as they sprang out of the door with it. The keg was not remarkably heavy, but it was an awkward shape and too big for either of them to carry on his shoulder or beneath his arm. Indeed, Frank felt his hands slipping from its rounded end and he was horribly afraid of dropping it among the patches of smoldering undergrowth and glowing fragments which lay all about him. A few moments later thick smoke whirled about him, and he hardly breathed as he struggledthrough it until it blew away again. Then, to his relief, he saw that the house was some distance behind them and they were clear of the worst of the sparks. They went on, however, to the opposite side of the clearing, where they deposited the powder, and then dropped the detonators a little farther on, after which Harry sat down on the frozen ground panting heavily.
"It's done and I want to get my breath," he said. "The next time I burn a slashing I'll see there's no powder about the place before I begin."
Frank made no answer. He was glad to sit still and recover, for the strain had told on him. Indeed, he was almost sorry when his companion stood up again.
"Perhaps we had better get back and pitch some water on the roof," he suggested. "I was too busy to think of that before."
The wind seemed to be dropping and the sparks were not quite so bad when they reached the house. They found a bucket, and after smashing more of the ice upon the shallow well Frank climbed up on the woodshed which reached to the low roof. The latter was covered with cedar shingles and he wondered why it had not ignited, because the sparks were still dropping upon it and there were several charred spots. This, however, was not a question of much consequence, and Harry kept him busy during the next half hour sluicing the roof with water which he passed up in the bucket. Some of it went over Frank's hands and clothing and it was icy cold, but they worked on steadily while the fire worked back farther from them into the bush. It had burned most fiercely when it had the dry branches in the slashing to supply it, but these were all licked up, and though the small stuff blazed the great standing trunks would not burn. There were already rows of them rising, charred and blackened columns, behind the slashing.
At last Harry called Frank down from the roof.
"You can let up," he said. "It's hardly likely we'll have any more trouble. There's a lamp and some canned stuff in the shack, and as we'll have to camp here I'll make some coffee. It's quite dark now."
Frank concluded that it had been dark some time, though he had not noticed when dusk crept down. He was glad to find the stove still burning when he entered the house, very wet, and aching in every limb. The kettle was soon boiling, and, as there was no bottom in the spider, Harry, who had found a bag of flour and a can of syrup, contrived to make some flapjacks and what he called biscuit on the top of the stove. He said that this would be no drawback because Mr. Webster never blacked the thing, and Frank found no fault with the cakes when they ate them hot with syrup.
Then they filled up the stove with the full draught on and lounged contentedly beside it while their clothing dried on them. They had had a heavy day, but now that the danger was over they were no more than comfortably weary and the thrill of the last stirring hours remained with them. Frank felt that they had done something worth while that afternoon.
When he diffidently pointed it out Harry laughed.
"Sure!" he agreed. "Still, it's quite likely that Webster will get jumping mad when he sees his fence, though it won't take him many days to split enough rails for a new one."
A little later Frank walked across the room and opened the door. The undergrowth on one side of the clearing gleamed white with frost. On the other side a few big branches still snapped and glowed, and there was a red glare behind the black rows of trunks, but it was now broken by patches of darkness and he could see that the fire was rapidly dying out. He came back with a shiver and sat down in his warm seat beside the stove.
There was a sprinkle of snow upon the ground, and the boys were working in Mr. Oliver's slashing one afternoon a week after their visit to Mr. Webster's ranch when Harry, who had just hauled up a log, stopped his oxen and addressed his father.
"It looks as if it would be a fine night," he remarked.
"Yes," said Mr. Oliver. "I've no fault to find with the weather. We'll get most of the logs piled for burning if it lasts."
Harry smiled at Frank. "Dad's slow to take a hint. I wasn't thinking of the logs."
"I can believe it," Mr. Oliver retorted. "Anyway, they have to be hauled out, and it's easier to do it now than when the soil's soft and boggy."
Frank, who had been heaving the sawed trunks on top of one another with Jake, agreed with the rancher. The big masses of timber slid easily over the snow and they were clean to handle, which was something to be thankful for after the difficulty they had had in moving them when they were foul with clotted mire. The frost, as he had discovered, seldom lasted long in that country, but it was very cold and the firs towered flecked with snow against a clear blue sky.
"I was wondering if there was any reason why we shouldn't try to get a duck to-night," said Harry. "We won't go near the island where the cache is. There's a flat behind the other one to the southward."
"I can think of one reason," his father answered."You won't feel like working to-morrow, and there's a good deal of log-hauling to be done."
"We'll be ready to start as usual," persisted Harry.
"Then you can go on that condition, but you'll have to stick to it. I don't mind your getting a few hours' shooting now and then, but I expect you to be ranchers first of all when there's work on hand."
Harry repeated his assurance and Mr. Oliver made no more objections. When they had heaved up the next log Jake turned to the boys.
"There'll be a moon and I guess you're not going to do much on the flats," he said. "You want to cut two very short paddles and put some spruce brush that you can lie on in the canoe. Then if you keep quite flat you might creep up on a flock of ducks in one of the channels. You can't do it if you use the ordinary paddle kneeling."
He split them two flat slabs off the butt of a cedar, but Mr. Oliver, who was chopping nearby, looked around when Harry began to hack them into shape.
"What are those for?" he asked.
"Paddles," Harry answered with some hesitation.
"You're logging just now," said his father dryly. "I want another tier put up before it's dark."
Harry laid down the half-finished paddles and grinned at Frank.
"I guess dad's quite right, but his way of staying with it gets riling now and then."
Frank laughed. One day when Harry had hurt his knee and there was no work of any consequence on hand, Mr. Oliver had taken him out into the bush, and the boy had a painful recollection of the journey they had made together. No thicket was too dense or thorny for the rancher to scramble through, and he prowled about the steepest slopes and amongst the thickest tangles of fallen logs with the same unflagging persistency untilat the first shot he killed a deer. Mr. Oliver was, as his son and Jake sometimes said, a stayer, one who invariably put through what he took in hand. He was the kind of person Frank aspired to become, though he was discovering that he was not likely to accomplish it by taking things easily. Success, it seemed, could only be attained by ceaseless effort and constant carefulness.
He went on with the logging, though the work was remarkably heavy, and it was an occupation he had no liking for, but he helped Harry to finish the paddles after supper. Then they carried a bundle of spruce twigs down to the canoe, and, though there was not much wind, tied a reef in the sloop's mainsail, which Mr. Oliver had insisted on before they loosed the moorings.
An hour later and shortly before low water they let go the anchor in a lane of water which wound into a stretch of sloppy sand. It was just deep enough for the sloop to creep into with her centerboard up, and the flats ran back from it into a thin mist on either side. It was very cold and the deck glittered in the pale moonlight white with frost. Frank stood up looking about him while Harry arranged the twigs in the canoe, but there was very little to see. The sky was hazy, the moon was encircled by a halo, and wet sand and winding water glimmered faintly. At one point he could dimly make out the dark loom of an island, but there was no sign of the beach in front of him. Though he could feel a light wind on his face, it was very still, except for the ripple of water and the occasional splash of undermined sand falling into the channel, which seemed startlingly distinct. Once he heard a distant calling of wildfowl, but it died away again.
Dropping into the canoe when his companion was ready he took up one of the longer paddles. The water was quite smooth and they made good progress, but Harry did not seem satisfied.
"If I'd had any sense I'd have brought a pole to shoveher with," he complained. "It's handier in shallow water and the ducks seem to be a long way up. A creek that runs out on the beach makes this channel."
Frank paddled on, watching the sloppy banks slide by and the palely gleaming strip of water run back into the haze in front of him until at last it forked off into two branches.
"We'll try this one," said Harry. "I believe it works right around behind the island. The flood should come up that end first, and it ought to drive the feeding birds back over the sands to us."
The water got deeper as they proceeded, for Frank could feel no bottom when he sank his blade, but there was no sign of any duck until at last they heard a faint quacking in the mist. Soon afterward there was a shrill scream as a flock of some of the smaller waders wheeled above their heads.
"Now," said Harry, "we'll try Jake's idea. If the ducks aren't on the water they'll be along the edge of it where the bank's soft. You don't often find them feeding where the sand's dry and hard."
They placed the guns handy, and lying down upon the spruce brush dipped the short blades. Frank found the position a very uncomfortable one to paddle in, and he could not keep his hands from getting wet, though the water was icy cold. They were fast becoming swollen and tingled painfully in the stinging frost. Still, the boys made some progress, and at last looking up at a whisper from Harry, Frank saw a dark patch upon the water some distance in front of him. Harry edged the canoe closer in with the bank, which had a slope of two or three feet on that side.
After that they crept on slowly, because they dared not use much force for fear of splashing, and Frank's wet fingers were rapidly growing useless. The ducks became a little more distinct and he could see other birds moving about in the faint gleam on the opposite bank. Someof them, standing out against the wet surface, looked extraordinarily large, though he could not tell what they were.
At last a sudden eerie screaming broke out close ahead and Frank started and almost dropped his paddle as a second flock of waders rose from the gloom of the bank. They flashed white in the moonlight as they turned and wheeled on simultaneously slanted wings. Then they vanished for a moment as their dusky upper plumage was turned toward the boys, gleamed again more dimly, and the haze swallowed them. They had, however, given the alarm, and the air was filled with the harsh clamor of startled wildfowl.
"Now!" cried Harry. "Before the ducks get up!"
Frank flung in his paddle and pitched his gun to his shoulder, with the barrel resting on the side of the canoe. It sparkled in the moonlight, distracting his sight, and stung his wet hand, but he could see dark bodies rising from the water ahead. As he pressed the trigger Harry's gun blazed across the bows, and following the double crash there was an outbreak of confused sound, the sharp splash of webbed feet that trailed through water, a discordant screaming, and the beat of many wings. Indistinct objects whirled across the moonlight and as Frank with stiffened fingers snapped open the breach Harry's gun once more flung out a train of yellow sparks. Then the smoke hung about them smelling curiously acrid in the frosty air and they seized the paddles to drive the canoe clear of it. When they had left it behind them the lane of water was empty except for one small dark patch upon it, and the clamor of the wildfowl was dying away. They had paddled a few yards when Frank made out that something was stumbling away from them along the shadowy bank, but they were almost abreast of it before he could get another shell into the chamber. The bird lay still when he fired, and Harry picked up the duck on the water, after which he ran the canoe ashore.
"So far as I could see, the rest of them headed across the flat toward the other channel," he said. "It looks soft here, but, as you'll have to get out to pick up the duck yonder, it might be a good idea if you followed them over the sand. I'll work along the creek and it's likely that any birds I put up will fly over you."
This seemed possible to Frank, who realized that the walk would warm him, and he stepped out of the canoe into several inches of slushy sand. Floundering through it, he picked up the duck and threw it to Harry, who shoved the canoe out.
"I won't go far and you had better head back toward the forks in half an hour or so," he said. "I'll probably be waiting."
The canoe slid away, and Frank felt sorry that he had left her when he reached the harder top of the bank. The level flat which stretched away before him into the mist looked very desolate, and the deep stillness had a depressing effect on him. He also remembered that in another hour or less the flood tide would come creeping back across the dreary waste. He could, however, think of no reasonable excuse for rejoining his companion, and turning his back on the channel he set out across the sand. Nothing moved upon it as he plodded on, the silence seemed to be growing deeper, and he had an idea that the haze was denser than it had been. Still, he determined to make the round Harry had suggested and quickened his pace.
It was some time later when he heard a double report that sounded a long way off and he stopped to listen, when the clamor of the wildfowl broke out again. It died away, but he fancied that a faint, rhythmic sound stole out of the silence that followed it. A minute later he was sure that a flight of ducks was crossing the flat and, what was more, that the birds were heading toward him. As yet he could see nothing of them, for there was now no doubt that the mist was thicker. Hecrouched down as the sound increased, as it occurred to him that he would be too plainly visible standing up in the moonlight on the level flat.
The sound drew nearer, growing in a steady crescendo until he wondered that a duck's wing could make so much noise, and at last a number of shadowy objects broke out of the mist, flying low and swiftly in regular formation. The gun flashed, and the ducks swept on and vanished, all but one which came slowly fluttering down out of the mist.
Frank spent nearly a minute fumbling with stiffened fingers while he crammed in another shell, and then saw that the duck was running across the sand some way off. Closing the breach he set off after it, and had got a little nearer when it rose, fluttered awkwardly, and fell again, though it was able to make good progress on its feet. Twice he got within sixty yards of it, but on one occasion it flew a little way, and on the second it swam across a long pool which he had to run around. Indeed, it led him a considerable distance before he brought it down.