"Ef ther p'izen varmints has canoes—wa-al, we won't be liable ter foller 'em farther than ther lake."
"That is true. We will hope they have no canoes."
Onward they went once more, Old Rocks having lighted a fresh torch, which left but one remaining.
The night was on the wane. Already the sounds of the middle night were hushed. The owls had stopped their hooting, and now, on noiseless wing, were making their last hunting rounds before day should come.
Afar on the side of a mountain a wolf was howling like a dog baying to the moon. The stars which filled the sky seemed to prophesy of dawn.
Bending low, now and then swinging his torch to fan it into a stronger flame, Old Rocks almost raced along the trail, while the boy at his heels kept close.
They were like two tongueless hounds upon a hot scent.
And thus they came, at last, to the lake.
Not a word did Old Rocks say for several minutes, but he moved up and down the shore, reading the "sign," while his companion waited with the greatest anxiety.