Crane, however, continued to protest, which seemed to make his canoe-mate all the more set upon the project. They had paused a moment in their paddling, and Piper, dipping his blade, swung the frail craft toward the near-by shore, beyond which the dark, gloomy pines could be seen standing thickly a rod or more from the water’s edge.
“I’m going to put my foot on that island tonight,” declared Sleuth. “The rest of you had lots of fun with me last night, but I’ll show you that I ain’t afraid of——”
He stopped suddenly, the paddle upheld and dripping. Seemingly from the midst of the black pines came the long-drawn, mournful howling of a dog, and that sound, so doleful, so eerie, sent a shivering thrill through both lads.
“Great Jehosaphat!” gasped Crane.
“Did you hear it?” whispered Piper.
“Think I’m deef? Course I heard it.”
“It was a dog.”
“Mebbe it was.”
“Of course it was. Don’t you know the howling of a dog when you hear it?”
“I know the howlin’ of any ordinary dog, but somehaow that saounded different to me.”