“Thought we’d get a little information about Kanamo Lake,” said Phil, as they seated themselves.
“Yes,” chimed in Garry. “We are going off there early tomorrow and have a little fishing and perhaps a swim or two. We haven’t done anything since we got here but watch the timber cutting, and that isn’t a novelty any longer. What we especially want to find out is whether there is any canoe or boat on either of the lakes that we could use to get some really good fishing.”
“There isn’t a boat or canoe of any sort on either Dutton or Kanamo,” answered the manager. “But you will find that will not interfere with your fishing. Part of the banks are well covered with reeds, and early in the morning and after the sun has gone down you can catch a fine mess of pickerel. Throughout the day the bass can be caught from the bank if you boys are any hand at making a good long cast. I suppose as soon as the timber cutting is done, the tourists will begin to swarm here for summer camping, and then there will be plenty of boats and few fish. That’s generally the way.” The manager talked heartily as though relieved that the conversation had taken the turn that it had, and perhaps because of the information that the boys were going to get away from the camp. It was likely that he had expected some questioning because of the discharge of the scaler. Evidently thinking over the matter, he decided something in his mind, and turning to Garry, remarked casually: “I had hoped that the arrival of the scaler would give me a little extra time so that I could do some fishing with you and act as guide around here, but I regret to say that I found him incompetent and was obliged to discharge him. He was careless about his measurements, or else did not know how to measure properly, and all our records are messed up so that it will take me several days to get them straightened out. Fortunately I know pretty well what’s been shipped and can check against the bills of lading. Well, there goes the cook’s supper call.”
Following supper, the boys made excuses that they wanted to get their fishing tackle in order and retired early to their shack. They got to sleep early, as they expected a strenuous day on the morrow, and also hoped to be able to make a trip to Dutton Lake at night, hence wanted sleep.
Just as they were undressing, Dick uttered an exclamation of disgust.
“What’s the matter, Dick, lose a button?” inquired Phil.
“No, confound it, lost that nice knife with my name on it that I bought in Bangor.”
“That’s too bad, lost your nice toy. Well, you should worry, as you have your sensible scout knife that will cut even if it hasn’t a nice name on it,” laughed Phil.
Early morning found them routed out with the dawn, and as they hurried for the cookhouse to get some supplies with which to cook a luncheon at the lake, they heard the cook and his helper talking about some marauder that had been captured the night before and was locked up in the storehouse.
Neither seemed to know much about it, but the boys could see that the cookee was on tenterhooks, and several times tried to get out, only to be called by the cook and set to doing some necessary task toward the getting of breakfast. This uneasiness on the part of the cookee made the boys think that possibly Baptiste LeBlanc had been caught, and decided that when they had eaten they would have a look at the prisoner.