"Ah! that is he," softly cried the trapper; "I know the thicket he is hailing from. If you will remain just where you are, I will scull my canoe down to the spot, take him in with me, if he has not found a boat,—or at any rate bring him here to make his report."
Like the gliding of a fish, shrinking away from sight, the light canoe, under the invisible impulse of the dexterously handled oar of the trapper, passed noiselessly away, and disappeared in the darkness. But, long before the expectant officer, who had been vainly listening for some sound, either of the going or the coming of the absent canoe, had thought of its return, it was again at his side, with the anticipated addition to its occupants.
"Here is the man, to speak for himself," said the trapper, putting out a hand to guard off and prevent the canoes from grazing.
"Well, Mr. Phillips," said the sheriff, in the same cautious under-tone by which all their communications had been graduated, "we are all looking to you,—what is your report?"
"In the first place, that he is here."
"Where?"
"Sixty or seventy rods to the north of us, in a secure retreat up among the rocks, about a dozen rods from the shore."
"Are you sure of that?"
"Yes."
"How did you make the discovery?"