“Time to eat! Don’t you ever think of anything but eating?” demanded Garry.
“Yes, sir; when I’m not thinking about time to eat, I’m thinking about what to eat,” responded Dick promptly.
“Say, Phil, he’s hopeless. What say we make for that outlet at the far end of the lake. We might just as well do that as anything, since we have no real plan of action. Then tomorrow we can make a complete tour of the lake, and thus get a comprehensive idea of the whole body of water.”
The canoe was launched, and the boys climbed in. Garry and Phil elected to paddle, leaving Dick to sit in the middle.
“If that patch will hold Dick up, you can be sure it’s a good job, Garry,” laughed Phil, as they pushed off.
“So that was why you chaps were so kind as to do all the paddling. I’m to be the happy little subject of the experiment. Well, if I get a ducking there is some consolation in the fact that you two will follow suit,” said Dick good naturedly.
Garry had done a fine bit of work, however, and the craft proved to be all that they hoped it would. They made it dance through the water and were delighted to find that they could make much better speed than in the ordinary wooden canoe. The only thing necessary, however, was to keep perfectly quiet, as the balance of a bark craft is a much more precarious thing than that of a solid factory made canoe.
It took them but a short time to reach the outlet, and they beached their boat and started on a tour down the stream, which was a shallow, weedy affair.
Their early scout training, and their need of vigilance during their patrolling of the woods when on duty as fire rangers had made their powers of observation especially keen, and it was second nature almost for them to note signs of trail that would be unseen by one unversed in the lore of the woods and forests.
They had walked about a quarter of a mile, when Phil’s exclamation made them pause.