“I am ashamed to confess it, but such has been my fear at times. And yet,” the Captain hastened to add, as if regretting his unworthy thoughts, “it seems impossible, when we call to mind all he did and how he has acted from the first of our acquaintance with him.”
Chester was thoughtful for a moment or two.
“I made up my mind after that rumpus down stream when he saved Mike from a bad beating, that he was just what he said, though I won’t deny that more than one thing he has done—such as following us from Sawyer Island to the inlet where the Water Witch lay, and his behavior on the road—had a queer look. But what’s the use of speculating about it? Sooner or later we shall know the truth, and, if we don’t, I can’t say I much care. Which course will you take in going home?”
“I haven’t any choice; have you?”
“Suppose then you follow Back River, and around Cape Newagen home. That’s a pretty good run, and at the rate we are going we sha‘n’t get there before dark.”
“Have you any reason for the choice?”
“Only that we may catch sight of the Water Witch, from which we parted in those waters. If we do, we shall have to hold Mike in leash.”
So it came about that the Deerfoot turned into the headwaters of Back River, passing Cushman Point through the Cowseagan Narrows, and into the more open waters below. Three or four miles farther would take them to Montsweag Bay, of which mention has been made, that body of water being twice or thrice as wide as the river.
Suddenly Chester asked an odd question:
“Do you think the launch was injured by that spurt this forenoon?”