“We’ll keep sharp watch while we make camp,” said Dick. “Those fellows may have found another canoe and caught up with us.”
“Even if they come on by land they can’t be so very far behind,” Sandy added, shivering a little now that the warming work on the paddle was discontinued.
Dick and Sandy had paddled many miles that day and they were very tired. A year before they could not have kept on that far. But the north country had hardened their already healthy bodies, until they laughed at the exertion that would have put a southland boy flat on his back.
A campfire of pine cones and dead wood soon was crackling cheerily. Dick set on the coffee pot and mixed up some flapjacks while Sandy took off his moccasins and sox by the fire. By the time Sandy was fairly dry the meal was ready, and the boys fell to ravenously. Now and again they were startled by some sound from the forest, but each time the noise proved to be only that made by a wild animal investigating their campfire.
“We’ll take turns on watch tonight,” Dick said, sipping his last cup of coffee.
“Let’s draw straws for the first trick,” Sandy suggested.
“No,” Dick objected, “that ducking you had gave you the hardest day. I’ll take the first watch.”
Sandy wanted it otherwise, but Dick insisted.
“Well, if you’ll be sure to wake me up when my turn comes,” Sandy was already yawning, “it’s all right with me.”
Soon Sandy was rolled in his blankets, close by the fire, which was welcome indeed in the chill of the autumn evening.