“From all accounts it’s a homely woman,” laughed Nora.
“Oh, there are others,” reminded Stacy.
“That was not a nice thing to say, Stacy,” rebuked Grace, laughing in spite of her efforts to be stern. “It was decidedly ungracious.”
“So are the kind I mean,” retorted Stacy. “Hark!”
A rifle shot echoed through the canyons, but, though ears were strained to catch the sound, no second shot was heard.
“I wonder at whom they are shooting this time?” muttered Tom. “We are again reminded that we are not the only persons in the High Sierras, so let us be cautious.”
“Watch your step, ladies and gentlemen,” warned Stacy as the party started on.
The Overlanders chose a camp site back among the trees a few rods from the shore of the lake. This site was not only well screened from observation, but afforded an excellent view of the lake as far as the bend. Camp was quickly made, after which Stacy and Hippy shouldered their rifles and started out to get acquainted with their surroundings, as the party intended to remain at the lake for several days. The two had gone but a short distance from camp ere the Overlanders heard Chunky utter a shout.
“I’ve found an ark,” he cried, pointing triumphantly to a dugout canoe that lay on the shore.
The dugout had been hewn from a solid log and bore indications of recent use. Stacy searched for a paddle but could not find one. While the Overlanders, who had hurried out to him, were discussing Stacy’s find, Hippy was nosing about on the beach, closely observing the ground. He found boot tracks there, but they did not appear to have been recently made, so he decided that some days had elapsed since anyone had been on that particular spot.