“And I further order you, in the name of the law, not to tell anybody at the camp that you saw me. They’ll learn soon enough. Now, hop it!”
The twins had no mind to argue with the law, backed by a gun. They hopped it. They were twenty yards away before the man in blue called out to them.
“By the way, you haven’t seen any strange men around here in the last day or so, have you?”
“You’re the only one.” It was Jerry who replied. Jake caught his breath, and reflectively felt the damaged flesh over his left eye.
“Right. So long!”
The twins did not speak until they had crossed the cleared ground above the tents. As they approached Tent Ten, Jerry broke the silence. “It’s too much for my feeble brain,” he said. “Wonder if he was after your bald-headed friend?”
“I give up. Come on—we’ll be late for swim. Wonder where Sherlock is now? Hope he don’t get shot. If he don’t turn up for supper, maybe we’d better go look for him.”
Within the empty tent they quickly slipped into swimming suits and made for the dock. The water was already alive with plunging bodies. At the landward end of the dock, where the lake bottom sloped gently in a sandy beach that was a favorite spot for the younger and more timid swimmers, who could here sport about without getting beyond their depth, the twins paused to watch a scene that never failed to arouse laughter.
Billy the Crow was taking his daily bath. Billy was an aged black ruffian who made Lenape his home, and was often to be seen hopping about the tents or perching in a near-by tree, giving vent to his feelings in no uncertain tones. At some time in his life Billy had been caught by the hired man on a neighboring farm, who had, by slitting his tongue, bestowed on the rascally bird the doubtful gift of speech. Billy knew only a few words, but he made the most of them. This ceremony of taking a bath at the edge of the lake was a stunt of which Billy was especially proud. He now teetered on a flat rock at the water’s edge, urging himself to overcome his timidity and bravely take the plunge.
“Go on in, Billy!” said Billy with a squawk. “Go on in, Billy!” With one pointed claw he gingerly tried the water. The laughing ring of boys about him imitated his words and splashed the rock with water. Mr. Carrigan, camp naturalist, sat on the planked floor of the dock, on life-saving duty, his warning whistle dangling by its thong in his hand.