“If it was Ben he’d have a sail.”
“I don’t know whether he would or not. He might have lost it, you know, in the storm. That isn’t the direction from which Jock would come.”
“No. He went straight across from here. Do you think it’s Ben?”
Bob made no reply, but he ran swiftly down to the dock, and his companion as speedily followed him. There they waited for the approaching canoe, confirming themselves by repeated uses of the glasses that it was headed for the camp. The little boat became more distinct, and soon they could see the movements of the occupant as he deftly wielded his paddle.
At last, when it was within two hundred yards of the dock, after another long look through the glasses, Bob said, “It’s Jock.”
Neither of them spoke until Jock ran the canoe in-shore, and then by the expression upon his face they knew that he had no good report to make.
“I found Ethan,” said Jock, as he lifted the canoe out of the water and placed it on the bank, “and he and Tom have gone out. One has gone up the river and the other down.”
“What did he say?” inquired Bert, eagerly.
“Nothing.”
“Does he think Ben’s—”