“Probably one of the fellows who has been practicing down stream in the hope of surprising us to-morrow?” suggested Dave. But Wayne shook his head.
“It isn’t a boy, it’s a man; and he’s got a long muffler around his neck. See, he’s stopped!”
“Where is he?” asked Dave. “I can’t see him now.”
“Look straight across to the thickest clump of bushes. He’s in the dark there, and I believe he’s watching us. Looks as though he didn’t want to be seen, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, it does.—I say, fellows, let’s go over and have a look at him. What do you say?”
Don’s suggestion was greeted with enthusiasm, and the boys tumbled down the bank again and proceeded to don their skates. The twilight had deepened now, the river had become a broad path of gray between its darker shores, and the figure beneath the trees was lost to sight.
“Is he still there, do you think?” asked Dave, as he struggled with his clamps.
“Yes,” said Wayne, “I’ve watched. If he goes on he’ll come against that light space of sky there and we can see him.”
Dave’s runners were fastened first and he started across the ice, whispering to Don to hurry after, and in a moment was part of the gloom. Don followed the next instant, and Wayne, still working with his obdurate straps, was left alone. Then came a whistle and the sound of ringing blades on the frozen surface. He slipped the last buckle into place and followed up the river in pursuit of the skaters. Once he heard a shout, but he could see nothing save the high bank beside him, and, far up the ice, the twinkling lights of the school buildings. Once he came a cropper over a protruding spit of graveled beach, but picked himself up and was soon on his way again.
Suddenly the sound of skates ahead of him, and drawing nearer, brought him to a pause.