Toma deliberated for nearly a minute. His eyes flecked and his gaze dropped.
“No harm we go see them. Take jus’ a few minutes an’ we find out what they say. Come on.”
They dragged their canoe down to the water and Sandy pushed off. The light craft bobbed and swayed for twenty feet through the blue, almost unruffled surface near shore, then headed straight out toward the gradually disappearing speck retreating in the distance. For fully ten minutes no one spoke. The little vessel leaped and darted through the blue, sparkling element. In another ten minutes the other canoe had grown appreciably larger. Between strokes, Dick puffed:
“Remember, Sandy, this is your suggestion. You’re the spokesman.”
“Leave it to me,” the other retorted. “I know just what I’m going to say.”
“Whatever you do,” Dick warned him, “don’t let them guess that we’re suspicious of them.”
“I won’t,” growled Sandy.
Thus it happened that when they pulled abreast of the smaller craft, it was Sandy who hailed them. The two men raised their paddles and permitted their canoe to be overhauled. There ensued an exchange of greetings.
“Why didn’t you stop?” asked Sandy.
“Stop?” Wolf Brendan rubbed his unshaven chin and stared questioningly. “Stop where?”