“Nobody can follow trails in the air,” said Raymond by way of comforting Jeb. “Gee, nobody could do that. But it’s terrible, isn’t it?”
He looked up into the sky again as if he hoped it might still show some sign of path or trail, and as he did so a loud bark, a sort of harsh Haa-Haa, came through the growing darkness from across the lake, and reverberated in swelling chorus from the frowning heights roundabout. Then there was a long, plaintive bellow which died away as softly and as gradually as the day itself dies, and this again was followed, as it seemed, by the happy music of applauding hands, as if in acknowledgment of the long echoed refrain.
“Oh, they’re here! They’re here!” cried Raymond. “That was the Silver Fox call—and the Elks—and Garry’s with them—he made that Beaver call to let me know——”
Just at that moment the dense brush across the lake parted and a boy, bareheaded and wearing a grey flannel shirt, emerged on the shore.
“Oh, Tom! It’s Tom Slade!” cried Raymond, forgetting all else in his ecstasy. “Hello, Tom, you big—you big——” But he couldn’t think of any epithet to fit the occasion.
CHAPTER II
TOM SURPRISES THE CAMP
“Believe me, it was good to get our feet on terra-cotta—I mean terra firma. I don’t want any more life on the ocean wave for at least two weeks. I’m sorry we didn’t christen that boat the Sardine Box. Good Turn—you can’t even turn around in it!”
“You shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth,” someone laughed.
“You can look a gift boat in the cabin, can’t you,” continued Roy. “We were crowded in the cabin, not a soul would dare to move. That boat is all right for three scouts like last year, but for three patrols—go-o-d night! There wasn’t even room to flop a rice cake over—we had to eat them browned on one side—there was a wrong and a right to them. Never again! What we want is a sump-tu-ous yacht like that one moored at Catskill Landing!”
“Wal, ye did hev quite a crowd aboard, sure enough,” laughed Jeb, who always enjoyed Roy’s nonsense.