"I tried to make a stab at it by noticing the different sound of voices; and I'm dead sure there must have been three anyhow, p'raps more," the scout-master told him.
"And I think you've said once or twice that they seemed to be a rough lot?" the other went on to remark.
"That's my impression, Allan, from a number of things which I won't bother mentioning now. And there's something more. I told you that when I had a glimpse of the fellow who spied on our camp I thought he might be a foreigner, or a half-breed, didn't I?"
"Yes, I remember you did, Thad."
"Well," explained the other, "although I heard so poorly while I was hanging out near that hidden shack there were times when I thought one of the men was talking in some tongue besides plain United States. Fact is, he rattled off something in French."
"Oh! then it's plain who they are—half-breed Canadians from the North Shore. As this island properly belongs to Canada they would have a right to land here, and our coming needn't bother them any—if they are honest men."
"Thad, they wouldn't hide out like they do if they were the right sort. Make up your mind they're doing something that's against the law. Honest men don't carry on this way, and spy on a camp of Boy Scouts wrecked in a storm. Why, no matter how rough they might be, they'd drop in on us, and offer to share whatever they had. It's only fear of arrest that makes cowards of men this way."
"I forgot to tell you that among the few words I did manage to pick up by straining my ears to the limit, were just three that gave me an idea they took us for a detachment of militia, either Canadian or Yankee, out on the lake on some serious business that might interfere with their trade. Those three words were 'soldiers,' 'khaki,' and 'arrest.'"
Allan gave a soft whistle to indicate how his state of feeling corresponded with that of his chum.
"There isn't any doubt about it in my mind, Thad," he asserted, vehemently; "but that they're here for no good. That fast launch means they are in the habit of making swift trips back and forth, perhaps taking the night for it every time, so as to run less chance of being seen. And here hard luck has marooned us on Sturgeon Island with a bunch of desperate smugglers, who look on us as soldiers sent out by the Government to gather them in. If ever we were up against it hard, we sure are right now, Pard Thad."