They all hastened to step off toward the shore. Bumpus even picked up his gun, possibly under the belief that there might be a speck of war on the horizon. Jim looked a trifle uneasy, but there was a grimness in the way he shut his jaws together that told of his set purpose to face the music somehow or other, before leaving this country of the Eagle Lakes.
“There it comes!” announced Giraffe, in a half whisper, as he pointed to the left.
They could soon all make out the dim, shadowy canoe that was stealing along, some little distance from the shore, and evidently bent on passing the camp.
“I kin jest make out two fellers in her,” said Eli, who had sharp eyes.
“I reckon one of them must be Old Cale, then; he seems to be shadin’ his eyes with his hand, alookin’ toward our fire, and us astandin’ here,” Giraffe went on to say, though no one could be really positive, because the light was so poor.
The canoe passed by in this spectral fashion. There was no hail from those who sat in the boat, one using the paddle with the usual dexterity of a Maine guide; and of course none of the scouts thought of calling out, knowing who and what the voyagers were.
“I suppose that was Old Cale in the bow?” remarked Thad, after the canoe had faded away.
“An’ he was alookin’ fur me, I kinder guess,” said Jim, mournfully; at the same time, as if mechanically raising a hand to feel of his ears.