Here the smoke was heavier still, and the wind seemed even more dangerous. He could see nothing at any distance. The gale was driving him offshore and toward the center of the lake, when he thought he heard a shout. He paddled toward the sound. A long object appeared floating on the choppy waves in the smoke. It was a capsized canoe, with a man astride its keel, clinging with arms and legs. Tom thought it was Charlie; he drove up to it, but the face that looked up to him was white. It was Harrison, the “fish sharp.”
“What, you—?” Tom exclaimed; and then shut his mouth and, frowning, steered his canoe alongside for a rescue. It is a ticklish business to transfer a man from one canoe to another. Tom threw his weight far over the stern, and Harrison managed to climb into the bow without another upset, though shipping several bucketfuls of water in the process.
Tom immediately turned his canoe before the wind and paddled toward the other shore. The capsized craft vanished in the haze. The boy’s heart was savage within him. He laid the responsibility of the forest fire on Harrison and his guide, who had no doubt been hanging about the lake for days, awaiting their opportunity.
There was no chance to talk then. It took all his attention to keep the canoe straight and to prevent it from being swamped by the wind and water. The other shore loomed up dimly through the smoke. He could not pick a landing; he had to drive straight ahead. The canoe grounded heavily. He heard a smash of the delicate wood; then they both jumped overboard in the shallows and dragged the craft safely up above the wash of the waves.
“Made it!” said Harrison breathlessly. “Good thing you came up when you did. I upset when I was fifty yards from land. I’m not much of a canoeman.”
“Where’s your partner?” Tom demanded. “Where’s McLeod? Starting fires back in the woods, isn’t he? You nearly got caught in your own trap.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” retorted Harrison. “We didn’t start any fires. I thought this started from your own camp. I don’t know where McLeod is. He went up the river this morning.”
“Don’t bluff any longer, Harrison,” said Tom. “I know what you are after. You’re not up here to study fish. You want to run me off this place. I know all about the gravel quarry. You’ve got a contract for the concrete work at Oakley, I expect, and you can get the gravel down from here cheaper than any other way.”
Harrison stared, and then suddenly began to laugh.
“Gravel?” he exclaimed. “Why, the Oakley contracts were all let months ago. I haven’t got any of them. They’re hauling the gravel from a pit only three miles out of the town. Float it down from here? And keep a steamboat to haul the barges back empty? You’d better learn a little about construction work.”