It was true Kingdon was chuckling softly. He took his finger off the latch of the electric spotlight, and they were again in gloom; but, having scrambled up the rough bank from the water a few yards, there was visible before them—at least, to his eyes—a faint glow.
"That isn't a campfire," grunted Midkiff, finally observing the odd illumination.
"A campfire wouldn't have much of a chance in this rain," suggested Kingdon. "That light's behind canvas."
"A tent!" exclaimed Midkiff.
"You can risk your last iron man on it, old boy and—listen to the voices!"
"I hear 'em," admitted his comrade. "What you going to do? Sneak up and stretch your ear?"
Rex nodded, but gestured for Midkiff to remain where he was. They had drawn too near to the encampment for further conversation to be wise.
The radiance of the lantern inside the nearest tent rendered approach to it easy. The second, and totally dark canvas shelter, was beyond.
"Eavesdropping isn't my long suit," thought Rex Kingdon, "but all's fair in love and war—and several other things! We've got the rights of this. Whoever these chaps are, they're in wrong."
"'Tis no casual fishing party; they're here with tents and boats, I fancy—all the trappings of a stable camp. The unmitigated gall of them!"