The moon was setting, but the stars were out, and the boy and the dog had little difficulty in finding their way after gaining the shore. The latter, however, after hastily sniffing the air for an instant, darted away, leaving the boy alone.
“That’s a dirty Irish trick, Captain Joe,” said the lad, doing his best to keep up with his four-footed rival. “I wonder what he sees in there, anyway?”
The dog was now lost from sight in the underbrush which lined the shore, and Alex could only whistle in an effort to secure his return. The rustle of the dead foliage was the only sound for some time, then the dog set up fierce barking.
This was very unusual for Captain Joe, who confined himself, as a rule, to a series of warning growls, and Alex quickened his steps in order that he might see what the dog was at.
All was still in the thicket penetrated by the lad, however, and it was dark as a pocket, too. There was little hope of finding the dog in that smother of shadows, so Alex reluctantly turned his steps toward the boat.
“I’d like to know what’s got into Captain Joe,” thought the boy as he made his way back to the Rambler. “He certainly is acting queerly, and I don’t like the looks of it.”
In a few minutes he was back on the shore.
“It will be a good joke on the crazy pup to go away and leave him on the shore,” thought the boy. “It will teach him better manners, anyway. Now what’s that?”
“That” was a low whistle, evidently a signal. It came again in an instant, louder and clearer.
Alex listened again for the dog, but heard nothing indicating his presence. In a moment there was a rustling in the underbrush and then a man’s voice asked: