“Is he in it or did he set it adrift and start to swim?” inquired Fenn. All four were standing on the edge of the water peering out over the river in the darkness, the canoe being a deeper blur which alone distinguished it from the surrounding blackness.
“He’s probably lying down in it, thinking he may get shot at,” said Bart.
As if to prove his words the sound of paddling was borne to their ears, and the canoe seemed to move faster. The tramp had begun to propel the craft, but they could not see him.
“Let’s get back to bed,” suggested Fenn. “I think we’d better keep watch after this.”
“Not much use,” came from Bart. “That tramp isn’t likely to come back and there’s no one else around here. I vote we get what sleep we can.”
It was decided this was as wise a thing as could be done and after replenishing the fire, so it would burn until morning, the campers crawled back into the tent and slept until sunrise, no further alarms disturbing them.
“Well, fellows,” called Frank when the things had been put away. “What’s the program for to-day?”
“We’ll row up stream until noon,” said Bart, “camp and have dinner, and, if we like the place, stay all night. If we don’t we’ll move on to a better one.”
The boat was soon loaded and, with the canoe towing along behind, the trip was resumed. The river wound in and out through a wooded country for a few miles and then they came to a long straight stretch where it flowed between level fields.
As the boat was urged up stream under the impulse of the oars in the hands of Bart and Fenn, Ned, who was resting in the bow, called out: