"Come, youngster," said the guide, getting on his feet and picking up his rifle. "We'd best foller thet critter. He said he hed a chance, an' thet wuz whut we wuz arter."
Frank thanked the campers for their hospitality, and then hastened after Old Rocks, who was striding away after the Hermit, who had already vanished from view.
"Whatever's got inter ther man?" growled the guide. "He seems ter hev clean fergot we're on earth."
For at least a mile Old Rocks followed on the trail of the Hermit, and it finally ended at the shore of the lake, where it was seen that the man had taken a canoe.
And far out on the lake he was paddling swiftly away.
Putting his hands to his mouth, the guide sent a call across the water:
"Oh, Hermit!"
The man paddled on without looking back. Rocks repeated the cry several times, but without apparent effect, and then gave up in disgust.
"I'll allow this is onery!" he growled, as he sat down and lighted his pipe once more. "Dog my cats ef it ain't!"
Frank was disheartened.