At noon they returned to camp laden with grouse. No sign of the canoe as yet, so they had dinner, and lounged about and fished during the afternoon, casting many expectant glances down the lake for the laggard canoe. Night fell, with still no sound or sign of the wanderer, and again the camp-fire roared and flamed and sent its glowing reflection streaming far over the black waste of water. And again the three sat waiting. At ten o'clock the veteran rose and said, “Keep a sharp lookout, boys, and don't let him fool you again, and I'll get up a royal feed. He'll have moose-meat in the canoe this time, for he said he'd get that moose if he had to stay in the woods forever. He'll be dead beat, sure, for he's probably dragged the head out with him.” So they waited, piling the fire high, and staring out over the lake for the first glimpse of the canoe. Eleven o'clock and midnight came and went, and still no sign. Then they piled the fire high for the last time and sought the tent. At the door the veteran halted, and laying a hand on the shoulder of his chum, drew him aside.
“Why, whatever's the matter with you?”
The old man's face wore a piteous expression, and his voice trembled as he whispered:
“Hush! Don't let him hear you—but there's something wrong. Something horrible has happened—I feel it in my heart.”
“Nonsense, man! You're sleepy and nervous. He's all right. Why, he's just cut himself a moose steak, and had a feed and laid down——”
The sentence was never completed. A sound that caused both men to start convulsively tore through the black stillness of the night. A horrible, gurgling, demoniacal laugh came over the lake, and died away in fading echoes among the hills. “Woll-oll-all-ollow-wall-all-ollow!” as though some hideous fiend was laughing with his lips touching the water. They knew what it was, for the loon's weird cry was perfectly familiar to them, and they laughed too, but there was no mirth in their voices. Then one sought the tent, but the veteran paced up and down upon the cold beach, halting sometimes to replenish the fire or to stare out over the water, until a pale light spread through the eastern sky. Then he too turned in for a couple of hours of troubled, unrefreshing slumber.
The bright sunshine of an Indian summer's day brought a reaction and their spirits rose wonderfully; but still the canoe tarried, and as the hours wore away, the veteran grew moody again and the midday meal was a melancholy affair. Early in the afternoon he exclaimed:
“Boys, I tell you what it is: I can stand this no longer—something's wrong, and we're going to paddle those two skiffs down to the beaver meadow and find out what we can do, and we're going to start right now. God forgive us if we have been idling here while we should have been yonder!”
Two in a boat they went, and the paddles never halted until the channel to the beaver meadow was gained. Dividing forces, they circled in opposite directions round the open, but only the taint of the long-dead moose marked the spot. Then they fired three rifles in rapid succession and listened anxiously, but only the rolling, bursting echoes of the woods answered them.
“Guide, where would he probably have gone?”