Sandy stopped and commenced fanning himself with his hat.
“Why not? It will do us both good. We’d be safe enough, I’m sure. They can’t possibly see us from here.”
Dick was tempted. He looked down at the water. A trout flashed up from the cold, clear stream. Only for a moment did he hesitate.
“All right. Come on.”
They threw off their clothes, racing with each other to see who would be the first to dive in. Sandy won. Both boys commenced swimming about, diving, floating, frolicking in the water to their hearts’ content. So absorbed were they in the refreshing sport, that they became oblivious of the passing of time. Had not Sandy chanced to glance across the river, it is probable that they might have forgotten about their responsibilities for at least another hour or two.
But in that glance, the young Scotchman had seen something that quickly brought him back to the world of realities. He sprang ashore, calling to Dick excitedly.
“Look, Dick! What do you make of that?” One glistening wet arm was flung out in front of him.
On the opposite side, a few rods up from the water, Dick saw a blob of red—something that looked very much like a large strip of flannel, caught against the darker background of green.
“A red cloth,” answered Dick, only slightly interested. “Wonder who left it there?”
“It moves! It moves!”