Having cast off the painter of his canoe, Mr. Swan went on ahead, and the skiff followed slowly in his wake. Mile after mile they passed over in silence, all unconscious of the fact that almost every thing they did was observed by one who threaded his way cautiously through the bushes abreast of them, and who would have given a large sum of money if he could have had one of their boats at his disposal for a few minutes.
So well did Mr. Swan regulate his pace that it was just dark when he and his young companions arrived at the mouth of the little stream which connected the creek with the cove in which Matt enacted that neat piece of strategy described by Fly-rod in his story. Here he stopped and listened for a long time. No sounds came from the woods to indicate that the squatter and his family were occupying their old camp; but that was no sign that they were not there, and the guide proceeded very cautiously. He did not attempt to force his canoe into the stream, but made a landing below it, and the skiff drew up alongside of him.
“What’s the next thing on the programme?” whispered Joe, lifting his oar out of the rowlock and laying it carefully on the thwarts. “Shall we all go in?”
“I reckon we might as well,” replied the guide. “Why not?”
“You remember what happened the last time we were here, do you not?” replied Joe. “How Matt came around in our rear and threw away our things and stole two of our boats?”
“It ain’t likely that I’ll ever forget it,” said Mr. Swan, “nor how mad we all were to see how completely he had outwitted us. But he can’t do that this time, for we are not going into the cove. We’ll leave the boats here.”
“Matt Coyle isn’t within a dozen miles of this place,” said Roy, decidedly. “He’s on the other side of the lake.”
“That don’t signify,” answered Mr. Swan. “There are plenty of vagabones at the outlet who would set him across for the asking, and it ain’t a very fur ways from there to this cove. Now, if he is here, we’ll not give him a chance to slip away from us like he did last time. Yon know right where the camp was, don’t you? Well, I’ll go off by myself and surround it. At the end of twenty minutes, as near as you can guess at it, creep up toward the place you think I am, no matter whether you hear from me or not. Spread out from the center as you go, so as to come upon the camp from all sides. If he isn’t there, we’ll find out whether or not he has been there very lately, and that will be something learned.”
Mr. Swan lingered a minute or two to give a few additional instructions, and then moved silently away through the darkness. The first thing the boys did, when they found themselves alone, was to secure their guns and cartridge belts, and the second to draw the bows of the skiff and canoe upon the bank so that the current would not carry them away. After that they struck a match to see what time it was, and sat down to wait as patiently as they could for the twenty minutes to pass away.
“I hope Matt Coyle isn’t here,” said Joe, suddenly. “Or if he is, I hope he will take the alarm and make off before Mr. Swan gets a sight of him.”