“I have no idea what sort of fish had taken my bait,—there are many enormous ones in the lake,—but it proved far too powerful for me to manage, and dragged the canoe swiftly through the water, heading directly for the outlet, yonder.”
“Why didn't you let it go free, then?”
“The line was fastened to the prow, and I could not loosen it in time. I drew my knife,—one of flint, but keen enough to serve,—only to have it jerked out of my hand and into the water. Then, just as the fish must have plunged into the suck, I abandoned my canoe, jumping overboard.”
“That's just what I was wondering about,” declared Waldo, with a vigorous nod of his head. “Yet we found you—there?”
“Because I am a wretchedly poor swimmer. I managed to reach a drift which had not yet fairly entered the whirl, but I could do nothing more towards saving myself. Then—you can guess the rest, gentlemen.”
“And the canoe?” demanded Waldo, content only when all points were made manifest.
“I saw it dragged down the centre of the suck,” with an involuntary shiver. “The fish must have plunged into the underground river, whether willingly or not I can only surmise. But all the while I was drifting yonder, around and around, with each circuit drawing closer to the awful end, I could not help picturing to myself how the canoe must have plunged down, and down, and—burr-r-r!”
A shuddering shiver which was more eloquent than words; but Waldo was not yet wholly content, finding an absorbing interest in that particular subject.
“You call it a river: how do you know it's a river?”
“Of course, I can only guess at the facts, my dear boy,” the stranger made reply, smiling once more, and, with an almost timid gesture, extending one hairy paw to lightly touch and gently stroke the arm nearest him.