The mainsail looked remarkably big and heavy, and he was thankful that there was a reef in it, which made the task a little easier before he got it up. Then he spent several minutes in very hard work heaving the boat up to her anchor, and bruised his swollen hands in the determined effort it cost him to break it out. After that he set the jib and the sloop slid gently away with the wind abeam of her. He did not know exactly where she was going, but he shouted as loudly as he could every now and then, and at last there was a faint answering cry.
He called again and the cry rose more clearly, after which he hauled the sheet and changed his course, and by and by the canoe appeared out of the haze close ahead. A few moments later Harry paddled alongside, and handing up the ducks and his gun made the canoe fast before he turned to Frank.
"Do you know where you're heading for?" he asked.
"No," Frank confessed. "I've only a notion that it's in toward the land."
"Then we'll drop the jib and pitch the anchor over. We'll have to wait until the stream slackens before we get out again."
They followed his suggestion and Frank was glad indeed to creep back into the cozy cabin.
"This is uncommonly nice," drawled Harry, sitting down with a smile of content. "It was horribly cramping in the canoe and my hands were 'most too cold to paddle."
"What kept you?" inquired Frank.
"I must have gone farther than I intended and when I turned back the tide was running up so strong I could hardly make head against it. I was getting scared about you when I reached the forks and saw how the water was spreading on the sand. After that I didn't spare myself, but I was mighty glad to hear your shout."
"Did you get any more ducks?"