“A viltgat!” screamed Hans. “Dot vos vorser yit. Say, I peen doo sick do sday on dis islant any lonker. Vollufs mid wiltgats! Dunder und blitzens! Dis vos an awvul blace!”
CHAPTER III.
HANS GOES FISHING.
The next morning the ledge of rock was visited where Diamond had his adventure with the big cats, and he and Merriwell searched along the shore for some marks of the canoe in which the nocturnal visitor had made off. No young loup-cerviers were found, though a hole was discovered between some roots near the base of the rock, which the cats had no doubt used.
“I don’t understand it,” the young Virginian admitted, referring to the man he had seen sneak away from the camp. “The only thing I can imagine is that it must have been some one who hoped to steal something.”
“Yes,” said Merriwell, thinking of the suspicions Diamond had harbored against the guide. “Do you suppose Caribou could give us any ideas on the subject, if we should tell him about it?”
“Don’t tell him,” advised Diamond, who still clung to the opinion that John Caribou was not “square.”
The coming of daylight drove away the terrors that had haunted Hans Dunnerwust during the night. He became bold, boastful, almost loquacious.
When the sun was an hour high and its rays had searched out and sent every black shadow scurrying away, Hans took a pole and line and some angle worms and went out to a rocky point on the lake, declaring his intention of catching some trout for dinner. He might have had better luck if he had pushed off the shore in one of the canoes and gone fly fishing: but no one wanted to go with him just then, and he was afraid to trust himself alone in a canoe, lest he might upset. This was a very wholesome fear, and saved Merriwell much anxiety concerning the safety of the Dutch lad.