He said, "I know, but maybe it's the Gold Dust Twins. If they came home through the open country, they'd be sure to hit the lake at the wrong spot. Maybe they're looking for their camp. Let's get closer in, anyway."
I didn't care much what he did. If it hadn't been for the Gold Dust
Twins there would never have been any trouble, I knew that.
"I don't care where you go," I said.
"A good turn is a good turn," Westy said. "Maybe everything has changed, but good turns haven't changed. Their own tent is gone, their canoe is smashed—you said so yourself—and they're on the opposite side from Temple Camp. You know our signboard over there, 'Welcome to friend or stranger!'"
"Come on in and get them," I said, "I don't care. I don't care about anything. Why did he ever try to paddle across in all that rain? That was the beginning of all the trouble. A couple of bungling tenderfeet—"
As we rowed in and skirted the shore, I could see a dark figure following along at the edge.
"Who are you? What are you doing there?" Westy asked.
"Want to get across," the person said and his voice sounded kind of husky.
"What for?" Westy asked him.
I guess he didn't answer; anyway, I didn't hear him, because I wasn't paying much attention. Westy rowed in and the fellow stepped out on a rock in the water and waited.