“Of course that wouldn’t do on land,” he reflected, “for the dog would catch the scent, but he can’t know I’m in the water, and will be hunting elsewhere for my trail. He’ll be the most beautifully fooled dog in Maine.”
CHAPTER XIX — The Final Test
“Mr. George Burton may think he has a mighty smart dog,” reflected Hoke Butler, as he picked his way up the small stream, “and he isn’t any slouch, but there are some things he can’t do, and one of them is to follow a fellow’s trail through the water. Funny that when Burton shut us off from the lake he forgot this brook. Since he didn’t mention it, I have the right to use it.
“Now,” continued the logical young man, “while I keep to the water I don’t leave any scent; I’m like the fawn which the hound can’t track through the woods, and when Zip comes to the point where I stepped into the water, he’ll be up against it—hello!”
He had come to a place where the brook expanded into a pool and more than fifty feet across. Opposite to where he halted, the foaming current tumbled over a series of boulders, and then spread out into the calm expanse, whose outlet was the small stream which Hoke had ascended to this point. The water lost a good deal of its limpidity, so that the bottom could be traced only a little way from where he stood.
“That’s bully!” exclaimed the Scout, after brief reflection; “I’ll walk across the pond—it can’t be deep—and step ashore on the other side, Zip won’t come within a mile of the spot.”
He began wading, cautiously feeling each step before advancing. Since the depth was unknown he could not be too careful, though confident that the little lake was shallow in every part.
Half across the icy water reached to his knees. He pressed slowly on, thrusting out a foot and making sure of a firm support.
“It ought now to grow more shallow,” he reflected as he felt his way forward; “when I get to shore I may as well go back to the bungalow and wait till Zip returns disgusted. I guess Burton can take a joke when it’s on him, and he’ll laugh with the rest of us——”
At that instant, Hoke stepped into an unseen hole and dropped out of sight. The sudden clasp of the icy element made him gasp, and when his head popped up, he spat and struck out frantically for land. It was remarkable that the only spot in the pond where the water was over his head was barely two yards across, and beyond it the depth was so slight that while swimming, one of Hoke’s feet struck bottom. He straightened up, and strode to land, shivering in his dripping garments.