He baited his hook with a crayfish, and cautiously made his way toward the brink of the brook. Half-way he paused and straightened up, sniffing the air. Then he turned and looked at Lew.
"Smell anything?" he asked.
Lew had also detected a taint in the fresh morning air. "Smells like smoke," he said. "Probably some fisherman cooking his breakfast."
Charley turned toward the brook again, then once more faced his companion.
"People don't cook with leaves," he said soberly. "That isn't wood smoke, that's burning leaves."
For a moment the two boys looked at each other in silence.
"You don't suppose----" began Lew, but Charley cut him short.
"Let's make sure. Which way is that smoke coming from?" He stepped to the brook and dipped a finger in the cold water. Then he held his hand aloft.
"There's so little wind stirring I can't tell which way it's blowing," he said. "One side of my finger feels as cold as the other."
Again he tried it. There was just a suggestion of an air current. "Seems to be blowing straight up the valley," he said.