“Who were there then, do you know?”
“A couple of men from Portland and half a dozen young fellers from Springfield. There was another camp, with some women in it, but I didn’t get around to that, I only heard of it. There are half a dozen camps along the right bank of the river, but they are on high ground, and if the dam broke it isn’t likely the water would reach ’em,” continued the young lumberman.
The train rolled along at a rate of twenty miles an hour, making stops at stations and crossroads. Here and there a person got on or off, and by the time Camptown Falls was reached Dave had the passenger car almost to himself.
The train halted for but a minute and our hero alighted, suit-case in hand. Much to his surprise, not a soul was about the little depot, which looked old and dilapidated. There was a stretch of 222 fields beyond the track, and farther on he made out the glistening waters of the river, and in the center the woodland stretch known as Moosetail Island.
“Well, this surely is Lonesome Land!” Dave murmured to himself, as the train rumbled out of sight and he was left utterly alone. “And not another train until eight o’clock to-morrow morning! I’ll have a fine time of it to-night if I don’t meet those fellows, or run across some camp where they will take me in.”
Dave looked at the sky and this did not tend to increase his good spirits. When he had left Oakdale it had been warm and clear; now dark clouds were forming overhead and it looked as if it might rain before long.
“Well, I’ve got my raincoat and a waterproof cap, and that is one comfort,” he told himself. “But I had better hurry up and see if I can’t find Phil and the others before it gets too dark. I wish there was somebody here who could tell me where to go.”
He looked around for a sign of some habitation. Far across the river he saw a column of smoke, coming up from among the trees, but that was all. The only building in sight was the deserted depot.
There was something of a path leading from the depot to the river, and Dave followed this. 223 But soon the path seemed to divide, and the various branches became more indistinct at every step, especially as it was rapidly growing darker and darker.
“I’ll strike a straight course for Moosetail Island,” Dave said to himself. “I’ll surely find some people camping out there, and they may be able to tell me about the boys, if they are here.”