“Is that you, Joe?”
“Yes, but who are you?”
“Ira Le Geyt.”
“Hurrah!” came back across the little pond. “We’ll jine ye in a minute.”
There was a noise as of splashing water for a moment, and then two young lads came into the dim light of the camp-fire.
“Glad to see you, Ira,” they both exclaimed, shaking hands with him, and he introduced his companion to them.
“Master Preston, this is Joe Fisher and Late Wentworth, two friends of mine, who are of the right sort.”
When the courier had acknowledged the introduction, his guide continued:
“Was it you who were hooting like owls up where the stream crosses the Hubbardtown trail?”
“Yes,” Late replied. “We were separated, an’ tryin’ to come together again. Why do you ask?”