Jim Hart growled, but Henry and Ross were already discussing this question of a food supply, and Paul listened.
"The Indians don't come about the lake much," said Henry, "and it will be easy enough to find deer, but we must hunt at night. We mustn't let the savages see us, as it might break the island's spell."
"We'll take the canoe and go out to-night," said Ross.
"And this lake ought to be full of fish," said Paul. "We might draw on it, too, for a food supply."
"Looks likely," said Ross. "But we'd best not try that, either, till dusk."
But they worked in the course of the day at the manufacture of their rude fishing tackle, constructed chiefly of their clothing, the hooks being nothing more than a rough sort of pin bent to the right shape. This done, they spent the rest of the day in loafing and lolling about, although Paul took a half hour for the thorough exploration of the island, which presented no unusual features beyond those that he had already seen. After that he came back to the little cove and luxuriated, as the others were doing. It was the keenest sort of joy now just to rest, to lie at one's ease, and to feel the freedom from danger. The old burying ground was a better guard about them than a thousand men.
But when night came, Henry and Ross took out the canoe again, and Paul asked to go with them.
"All right," said Henry, "you come with us, and Sol, you and Jim Hart can do the fishing and the quarreling, with nobody to bother you."
"Jest my luck," said Shif'less Sol, "to be left on a desert island with an ornery cuss like Jim Hart."
Henry, setting the paddle against the bank, gave the canoe a great shove, and it shot far out into the lake. Paul looked back. Already their island was the solid dark blot it had been the night before, while the waters moved darkly under a light, northern wind.