“I reckon that settles it,” said Grant, when he had finished. “You’ve got your job cut out for you during this outing, Ben, and I shall vote that you be given full charge of the commissary department.”
CHAPTER XI.
THE LEGEND OF LOVERS’ LEAP.
An hour or more after dinner, as the boys were lounging about, a canoe containing a single occupant was seen approaching the point. The person who wielded the paddle headed for the sandy beach of the little cove, upon which lay the canoe of the campers, and, as he drew near, he was seen to be a youngish man dressed in khaki. A bamboo fishing rod projected upward over one of the thwarts of the stranger’s canoe.
“I judge he’s coming to pay us a visit,” said Grant, starting toward the beach.
Rod was right. Smiling pleasantly, the young man, who had a small black moustache and seemed somewhat in need of a shave, brought his canoe on to the beach with a soft grating sound and stepped out into the shallow water, his feet being protected by water-tight boots.
“Hello,” he nodded in an agreeable manner. “Saw your smoke and thought I’d come over. Camping out here, I see.”
“Yes,” answered Rod, equally affable and a bit curious. “Are you from the hotel?”
“No. My name is Granger—Charles Granger, and I’m stopping in an old log cabin about two miles from the hotel. How’s the fishing over this way?”
“Pretty good, I reckon. We’ve tried it only once, but we had good luck. You see we got here last night barely soon enough to make camp.”