“Mr. Barker,” asked Tim, “are we going to stay here all night? It will soon be pitch-dark.”
“Yes, it will be very dark. It is cloudy and it looks as if we might have a storm,” admitted the trapper.
The lads were mystified by Barker’s answer, but Bill felt that the trapper did not wish to answer any questions and that he had some secret plan to carry out.
But little Tim was less discreet. “Shall we build a lean-to?” he asked.
“No, Timmy,” the old man answered, smiling. “I reckon we won’t. If the good Lord sends us a shower to-night, I reckon we’ll just get wet. The rains in this country are warm and it will not hurt us to get wet.
“Let’s go down to the river and see the water run by.”
The trapper led the way under tall trees, and the other three followed in silence. If Tatanka knew anything about Barker’s plan, he did not betray his knowledge by either word or gesture.
At the foot of a large sycamore Barker stopped. It was now so dark that the trees across the river were not visible, but as the boys looked over the steep bank they could just see the bulk of a large dugout swaying in the current under some overhanging branches.
“Oh, Mr. Barker,” Bill whispered, “somebody keeps his boat here. Can you see it?”
“Yes, boys,” the old man replied in a whisper. “I know about it. It’s our boat. I bought it yesterday.