Half an hour's rapid walking brought them to the road just below General Gordon's barn. The next thing was to make their way along the foot of the garden until they reached the jetty, and that was an undertaking that was not wholly free from danger. Don Gordon's hounds were noted watch-dogs, and any prowlers they discovered were pretty certain to be severely treated. But there was no flinching on the part of the two boys. Bob led the way almost on his hands and knees, stopping now and then to listen, and finally brought his companion to the place where the boats were moored. There was only one of them available, however, for the canoe, which they had intended to take, was secured to a tree by a heavy padlock.
“Did you ever hear of such luck?” whispered Bob.
“Couldn't we paddle the other up there?” asked Lester, feeling of the chain with which the sail-boat was fastened to the wharf, to make sure that it was not locked.
“O, yes; but why is this canoe locked up? That's what bothers me. Perhaps Don suspects something and is on the watch.”
“Who cares if he is?” exclaimed Lester. “I've come too far to back out now. I wouldn't do it if Don and all his friends stood in my way.”
“All right. If you are not afraid, I am not. Be careful when you cast off that chain. You know that sound travels a long way on a still night like this.”
Lester was careful, and the boat was pushed off and got under way so noiselessly that a person standing on the bank would not have known that there was anything going on. Bob, who knew just where the shooting-box was located, sat in the stern and did the steering, at the same time assisting Lester in paddling. The heavy boat moved easily through the water, and before another half hour had passed they were at their journey's end.
“Hold up now,” whispered Bob, “and let's make sure that everything is all right before we touch the shore.”
Lester drew in his paddle and listened. He heard a whistling in the air, as a solitary duck flew swiftly up the lake, and that was the only sound that broke the stillness. The trees on the shore loomed up darkly against the sky, and presented the appearance of a solid wall of ebony. Lester could not see anything that looked like a shooting-box, but Bob knew it was there, and when he had listened long enough to satisfy himself that there was nobody in it or about it, he brought the bow of the boat around and paddled toward the shore.
“Which way is it from here?” asked Lester, when the two had disembarked. “I can't see anything.”