The close vegetation of the shore was alive with mosquitoes.
“Don’t worry about these,” laughed Roy. “This is the breeding place of the best mosquitoes in the world. Don’t fight ’em—forget ’em.”
Colonel Howell, near by, exclaimed:
“Don’t worry, young men. Mosquito time is about over. You won’t see many of them after the end of July.”
“By the way,” interrupted Norman, “what day is this? Is it July yet?”
“That’s another thing you don’t need to worry about,” went on Colonel Howell with a chuckle. “When the mosquitoes have gone, you’ll know that July is gone, and then we won’t have anything to trouble us till the ice comes.”
“Bum almanac,” commented Roy. “Mostly gaps, I should say.”
“Not so much,” continued the colonel still laughing. “It isn’t as much of a gap between the mosquitoes and ice as you might think. But it’s breakfast time. We’ve got two cooks with us, one for the crew and one for the cabin passengers. You’d better take your morning dip and then, if you like, you can take the canoe and pull over to that gravel reef. You won’t find so many mosquitoes there and you can stretch your legs.”
The boys put off their swimming until they had reached the island, where they had the satisfaction of arousing a young buck from the poplar underbrush, and the mortification of trying to catch it by chasing it toward the mainland in a canoe. An Indian fired at the deer from one of the scows, but it made the river bank in safety and disappeared in the bush.
“There, you see,” announced Roy at once. “The twenty-two would have been all right, but you’ve got to have it with you.”