Nangotook was not so sure that the Frenchman had left the island. Though they had found no further traces of the man, he might be concealed somewhere. It was evident that the Ojibwa himself had reason to fear Le Forgeron. Apparently he thought the Blacksmith might return to their camp again that night and do them some injury, for he proposed that they move to another spot not so deep in the woods, where they could keep a better lookout for danger. The lads were more than willing, and he selected a place at the southern end of the island, on open ground, a little distance from the woods. There, where they could not be approached under cover of the trees, the three built another lodge. While the boys cut balsam for their beds and fire-wood for cooking, Nangotook went back to the bay, launched the canoe, and paddled it through the entrance and around the outer shore to the end of the island. Then they hoisted it up the rocks and carried it to their camp, where they placed it, bottom side up, close to the wigwam.
Supper that night was a pleasant change from the fish diet of the past few days. The evening before, the Indian had set some snares, using fish-line for the nooses, and had caught a hare. To take the place of the missing kettle, he had made a birch-bark basket in two compartments between which the water could circulate. Having filled the basket about half full of water, he placed in one compartment the meat, cut into small pieces, and some little tubers he had dug. Meanwhile stones had been heating in the fire. When they were red hot, he lifted them, one at a time, with two sticks, and carefully immersed them in the water in the other compartment, setting it to boiling. The tubers he called waub-es-see-pin. They were a little like potatoes, and, stewed with the hare meat, the lads found them good.
All night the fire was kept going, and the Indian remained awake and alert until daylight, when he roused Jean to take his place. There were no signs that either man or beast had approached the camp.
The weather remained raw and threatening and the lake was hazy with cold mist. After noon, Ronald, growing restless, set off to hunt and explore. Etienne had gone to look at his snares, and Jean remained in camp. Ronald followed the ridge to the bay, then made his way around to the extreme inner end, where the waters of the bay were separated from the lake by a narrow strip of land. From there he struck along the lake shore to the place where the track Etienne had followed the morning before ended abruptly. The boy’s mind was busy with the problem of the appearance of Le Forgeron on the island and his departure from it. Why had he come there and where had he disappeared to? The lad went clear to the northern end. Gulls were everywhere, swimming in the lake, diving through the waves, flying overhead and resting on the rocks. The place seemed alive with them. Ronald paused for a few moments to look out over the water. The sun had broken through the clouds, and they were scudding before a strong wind. In the distance he could discern the rock that had sheltered his companions and himself. The clearing weather gave him hope that they would be able to leave the island soon, and it was in better spirits that he turned to go.
On the way back, he climbed about on the rocks to get a view down on the palisaded cliffs, which were not quite like anything he had seen before. In some places the columns were in two or three rows, one row rising above another, the lower one starting at water level and running up like a flight of steps. After he had passed this singular place, he noticed, as he looked down from the top of a vertical wall of rock, that the waves, instead of breaking into foam against it, seemed to be passing under it. “There must be a cave down there,” he thought. Balancing himself on the very edge of the cliff, he leaned forward in an attempt to see the hole where the water washed in.
Then something struck him suddenly, heavily, on the head and shoulders, and he toppled over. The blow had taken him wholly by surprise, and there was nothing to catch hold of. He went down into the lake. His head struck a rock, and he knew nothing more.
[XIII]
THE CAMP IN THE CAVE
When Ronald regained consciousness, he found himself in semi-darkness, and it was several moments before he could make out his surroundings. He was lying with his body in the water, but his head and shoulders on shelving rock. Just as he opened his eyes, a wave swept over his breast, the cold spray striking his face. As the water receded, it seemed to pull at his legs, but his body was lodged in a shallow rift of the rock, and the drag of the water was not strong enough to dislodge him. A little way above his head he could discern in the gloom, a dark rock ceiling. As soon as he was able to connect his thoughts with what went before his plunge over the cliff, he realized that he was probably in one of the caves that he had guessed must penetrate the rock at the water line.
His head ached, and when he put his hand to his forehead, he felt that it was wet with something thicker and stickier than lake water. He had cut his head on a rock when he fell into the water. It was striking the rock, rather than plunging into the lake, that had made him lose consciousness. He wondered that he had not been drowned. It was not the first time in his rather adventurous life that he had come near to drowning. It was strange, he thought, that he was not strangling and gasping for breath, his throat, nose and lungs full of water. Surely his head could not have been under more than a moment. Yet he had been washed into the hole in the rock.