“There’s water in that spring, I guess,” he said laconically ignoring Merritt’s open compliments.
The two lads munched away contentedly. They were seated at the head of the little ravine which ran back from the shore of the lake. Above them towered a rocky cliff from which flowed the spring. Ferns of a brilliant green and almost tropical luxuriance festooned its edges. The water made a musical tinkling sound. It was a pleasant spot, and both boys enjoyed it to the full. They would have appreciated it more though, if they could have stumbled across the canoes which Tubby was beginning to believe were a figment of his imagination.
“Wonder if there were ever Indians through here?” said Merritt, after a period of thought.
“Guess so. They used to navigate most of these lakes,” said Tubby, stuffing some remaining crumbs of cake into his mouth.
“Why?” he added, staring at Merritt, with puffed out cheeks.
“I was just thinking that if we were early settlers and an Indian suddenly appeared in the opening of this canyon or ravine or whatever you like to call it, that we’d be in a bad way.”
“Yes, we couldn’t get out. That’s certain,” said Tubby, looking around, “I guess the red men would bury the hatchet—in our heads.”
“I’m glad those days are gone,” said Merritt, “I should think that the early settlers must have—Hark! What’s that?”
A sudden crunching sound, as if someone was leisurely approaching had struck on his ear.
“Sounds like somebody coming,” rejoined Tubby.