"Come," he said, "follow me. I have a canoe."
"I s'pose we can't do any wuss," mumbled Old Rocks; "though I don't prezactly know how we're goin' ter trail them critters through ther warter."
The Hermit moved along at a swinging stride, and they followed him through the morning twilight.
Less than half a mile had been covered when the man in advance suddenly paused, uttering an exclamation of surprise.
Straight ahead, amid the trees of a little grove on the shore, they beheld the snowy outlines of a tent.
In a little park beyond the camp could be seen the dusky outlines of horses feeding. Close to the open flap of the tent two dogs were curled, both sleeping soundly, so silent had been the approach of the trio.
The light in the eastern sky was getting a pink tinge, and, with each passing moment, objects could be seen more distinctly.
A tiny column of blue smoke rose from the white ashes of the camp-fire, telling that a brand still smoldered there.
There was a stir within the tent. There were muffled grunts, a yawn or two, the rustle of clothing, faint sounds of footsteps, and then the flap of the tent was flung wide open, and a man came out into the morning air. He paused and stretched his limbs, standing so the trio obtained a fair view of him.
With a sudden, hoarse cry, the Hermit rushed forward and confronted the man.