Storm Island was several miles long, and it was no inconsiderable walk to the western point of it. As he came within half a mile or so of the high clay bank under which he believed he had seen the small boat take shelter the previous afternoon, he looked sharply as he went along for signs of a landing on the beach.
He found the place for which he was searching. The canoe had been lifted out and carried into a narrow, sandy and well-drained gulley. It had been overturned, and its cargo sheltered beneath it. The marks of two human beings who had crouched under the overturned boat were likewise plainly visible.
Presently he went back to his friends, and found that the boys from the other camp, with the exception of the Indian, had come to see what the bowlder and debris on the plateau meant. They had spied the heap soon after the canoe arrived. Horace, of course, was reserved in his observations, as usual. Ben Comas was silent. Pudge was openly congratulatory that nobody was hurt. Kirby did the most talking.
"Wonder our fellows here didn't hear it," he remarked.
"It ought to have been heard in Blackport," Kingdon said grimly.
"You chaps must have slept like the dead, over there at the camp," said Kirby. "I'm sure I should have heard it if I'd been there."
"Perhaps I did hear it," drawled Pence, "but thought it was only Pudge snoring."
Kingdon continued cheerful and talkative while the visitors remained. He did not appear to, but he made friendly advances to Kirby.
"You had a bad night, didn't you?" he questioned. "I guess I saw you and Bootleg making the Clay Head just before the storm burst."
"Wha-at?" cried Kirby. "We didn't either! We stayed at Blackport all night."