He wondered if they were going to work all night. He was tired of waiting on the shore, and he had a great desire to examine the partly constructed raft more closely. Toward nine o’clock, however, he observed the activity slackening. The fires began to die down. Work was knocked off. He perceived that a kettle was being boiled at a smaller and more distant fire. The men gathered around and were served with food. They smoked for a little while after this, while Tom watched impatiently, and then one by one they disappeared into the tents. There were evidently not men enough for the day and night shifts, and so Harrison had simply extended the day as long as possible.
Tom still waited and listened. Silence fell on the camp. The red shine of the fires grew dim, and the pale moonlight began to take its place. But for the fifty yards of channel, Tom would have ventured to reconnoiter the raft more closely; and he was in fact thinking of taking off his clothes and wading and swimming over when a faint, unmistakable splash close at hand caught his attention.
He shrank back into the bushes, cocking his rifle. For full five minutes he stood motionless, every sense alert, but without hearing a twig rustle. Then a shadow moved out of a thicket.
“Tom!” said a subdued voice.
Tom started violently, half raising his rifle.
“You no shoot me, Tom. I watch you long time,” said the shadow.
“Charlie!” exclaimed the boy, recovering himself. “That isn’t you? Why, I thought you were gone long ago. How did you see me?”
“I see you when you come out on river, ’fore dark. Think it’s you, not sure. I follow you—watch long time. I think mebbe you come back some time, Tom. I look for you every day.”
“Charlie, you’re a good scout!” said Tom, his heart warming. “Yes, I’ve found out that timber really is mine after all, so I came back.”
“We fight um, then?” asked Charlie, hopefully.