“We can’t do any thing to-night,” replied Joe. “I propose that we anchor here and wait until morning comes to show us how she lies. If the water isn’t over thirty feet deep we can raise her.”
The others agreeing to this proposition, the ground tackle was got overboard, and Roy, who handled the rope, encouraged Joe by assuring him that the water was not an inch over twelve feet deep.
“If that is the case,” said the latter, hopefully, “I shall soon have my boat back again. It will be no trouble at all to take a line down twelve feet. I’d give something to know what she is loaded with.”
“Contraband goods, I’ll be bound,” said Arthur. “The fruits of a raid on somebody’s smoke-house or hen-roost. I am sorry to know that Matt Coyle is in the neighborhood, for we don’t know at what moment he may jump down on us and steal something.”
“We mustn’t let him catch us off our guard,” said Roy. “It won’t be safe to leave the skiff alone for a minute.”
The boys’ hands were as busy as their tongues, and in a short time the tent was up, a light from the jack-lamp was streaming out over the water, and the appetizing odor of fried bacon filled the air. The knowledge that the thieving squatter was no great distance away, and that he might make his appearance at any moment, did not cause them to eat lighter suppers than usual, nor did it interfere with their customary sound and refreshing sleep. They felt safe from attack. They did not believe that Matt Coyle had a boat (they knew very well that he could not have brought the punt with him), and consequently there was no way for him to reach them unless he resorted to swimming; and they did not think he would be foolish enough to try that.
The boys slept soundly that night, but the next morning’s sun found them astir. Arthur made a cup of coffee over the pocket cooking stove, after which the tent was taken down, and Joe Wayring made ready for business by divesting himself of his clothing.
The first thing was to find out just where the canoe lay, and that did not take them as long as they thought it would. The water was as clear as crystal, and every thing on the bottom could be plainly seen by Joe and Roy, who leaned as far as they could over opposite sides of the skiff, while Arthur rowed them back and forth in the vicinity of the snag.
“There she is!” cried Roy, suddenly; and as he spoke he caught up the anchor and dropped it overboard. “We’re right over her, and there isn’t a snag or any other obstruction in the way.”
Joe Wayring stepped upon the forward locker, holding in his hand one end of a rope which he had coiled down on the bottom of the skiff so that it would run out easily, and as soon as the boat stopped swinging he dived out of sight. When the commotion in the water occasioned by his descent had ceased, his companions could observe every move he made as he scrambled about over the sunken canoe, and presently they saw him coming up.