Having now no trail to follow, Harvey could not accurately retrace his steps, but held to the course so well that he reached the shore of the lake at the time expected. But nothing was to be seen of the canoe that had brought him over. He made a brief but unsuccessful search.
“It can’t be far off,” was his conclusion; “the owner will have no trouble in finding it, if he hasn’t already done so and gone back to the other side.”
Recalling the slight expanse of water, Harvey picked his way along the margin until he reached the curving end, around which he passed, and then resumed his direct course to the clearing on whose edge he had left his machine. He saw and heard nothing to disturb him during his return and reached the spot while the night was still comparatively young.
CHAPTER VII.
AN UNWELCOME VISITOR.
YIELDING to a feeling of slight uneasiness, Harvey Hamilton lighted several matches and made an inspection of his aeroplane. With vast relief he found it unharmed. If any one had come upon the machine he had not molested it. It was ready for service and he had a good supply of gasoline and oil.
He had placed his bag of sandwiches on the rear seat. Removing the food to the one he used when sailing through the air, he adjusted himself in the upper seat. Here with his coat wrapped about him he said his prayers, and settled down for a night’s slumber. He was tired and needed rest, but his mind was so full of what he had learned, and with speculations as to the immediate future, that he remained awake far longer than was his usual habit.
A strange theory took shape in his mind. It was in effect that when Professor Morgan made his first experimental flight he took Bohunkus with him to some point where he had been left with orders to stay until his master—as the man undoubtedly was—called for him. If he kept Bunk at the “works,” the boy was quite sure to meet others who might persuade him to run away. Hidden somewhere in the wilds of the Adirondacks he would not dare do this, but would meekly obey instructions. He would be kept there until the Professor had perfected his invention and returned, when he would pick up the youth and start on their trip to Africa. The question of food was simple: Morgan could readily take what the fellow needed, though not all he wished, to him.
On the supposition that our young friend was right in his surmises, what could he do to save his comrade? In what respect was the situation improved or the problem simplified? A man can disguise his personal appearance and often successfully shadow another, so long as both keep their feet on the solid earth. But nothing of that nature was possible in the present instance. The first sight which Professor Morgan should catch of Harvey’s biplane would tell the whole story. He would know the youth had returned to the lower Adirondacks to take Bohunkus Johnson from him. The discovery could not fail to throw him into a flaming rage, and he would exert himself to destroy the audacious pursuer. Harvey felicitated himself upon his possession of the revolver and a supply of cartridges. While he did not hold the crazy inventor in fear, he dreaded unspeakably a hostile encounter with him, for the consequences were sure to be tragical.