“Easy, boy, easy,” murmured Cavvy drowsily.
Grinning shame-facedly, Steve reached down and ruffled the other’s hair. A perfunctory scrimmage followed. But Cavanaugh was too drowsy to carry this far. And very shortly Mr. Wendell’s orders sent the crowd staggering sleepily tentwards.
A little later, crawling into his blankets, Steve reached a sudden, abrupt decision. Since he could not seem to rid his mind of the problem which had been raised there, why not make an effort to solve it? Very likely the answer would be a simple one not worth his trouble, but at least it would be an answer. Suppose he got another look at the perplexing stranger? If he saw him again that stubborn memory might awake.
“I’ll take a trip to Loon Island to-morrow,” he said to himself. Then he turned over and went to sleep.
CHAPTER VI
LOON ISLAND
Steve said nothing to anyone next day of his determination. He knew he would be laughed at, for he felt himself that it was a rather foolish proceeding, and it would be difficult or impossible for him to explain in words the curious intensity of his interest in the matter. So he did not even take Cavanaugh into his confidence, merely explaining that he was going for another little trip in the canoe. Cavvy’s approval was prompt, but there was just a touch of disappointment in his manner which made Steve a little troubled.
Was he making a fool of himself or not, he wondered, as he slid out into the Sound from behind the point. A portion of Loon Island was visible now and he glanced speculatively in that direction. For all he knew the stranger whose face had so puzzled him might not be in the neighborhood again for days or weeks. His presence yesterday could easily have been the result of a chance excursion never to be repeated. Nevertheless, once started, he had no thought of giving up the trip, for he was not the sort to turn aside readily from something he had once set his mind upon. So he dismissed his doubts and sent the canoe forward resolutely.
The surface of the Sound was smooth—almost too smooth, in fact. There was an oily look to the long, easy swells which rolled the canoe ever so slightly as it cut across them. Once or twice Steve glanced back and frowned a little at the smoky, golden haze hugging the eastern horizon. But he paddled steadily, keeping fairly close to shore; and when he came opposite the group of islands and headed his craft across the half-mile stretch which separated the nearest one from the mainland, the storm signals had not increased.
“I guess it’s going to hold off for a while,” he decided. “Anyhow, at the worst I’d be stuck on the island over night—which wouldn’t kill me.”
Presently he came abreast of the first little islet and passed it, passed the next one, and then turned into a narrow, rock-bordered channel along the north side of Loon Island. The tide ran swiftly here, but it carried him with it and without much effort he managed to circle the lower end of the island and reach the point where he had landed the day before. Here he stepped ashore, and pulling up the canoe, hid it in a thicket of juniper. It was still fairly early—an hour and a half earlier, in fact, than when Steve had glimpsed the man in the dory yesterday afternoon. But he had planned for this deliberately. He wanted to take a look over the island before returning to the point to watch for the stranger.