When they awoke nature presented a far different aspect. A stiff, cold wind blew out of the northeast, the sky was hidden by dark clouds that hurried up the lake, and the water was of a leaden green hue and crested with whitecaps. They viewed the prospect gloomily while they tumbled into their clothes and lighted the morning fire. But a good breakfast put them in better spirits, and at half past eight they were in the canoes again battling with wind and waves. It was hard paddling, and to make it worse the spray drenched them before they had made a half mile of progress. Long before noon, in spite of many rests, they were ready to seek the shore. The wind increased with every hour and the heavy clouds drove faster and faster into the southwest. At half past ten they decided to land and so turned the bows of the canoes toward a fair-sized island that guarded the entrance to a bay. It was while making for this that Bob, who was in the leading canoe with Dan, pointed to an object which drifted along a quarter of a mile up the lake.
“Looks like a boat, doesn’t it?” he asked.
“It surely does,” Dan answered after studying it a moment. “But it seems to be empty. Let’s go and investigate.”
So they shouted to the others and paddled away in the direction of the derelict. When they drew near they saw that it was a cedar rowboat, apparently a yacht’s tender. At the stern was the word “Elf.” It was almost half full of water and a crimson sweater washed to and fro in the bottom. There were no oars in it and the rowlocks were not in place.
“If it wasn’t for the rowlocks being out,” said Dan, “I’d think there’d been an accident. But I guess no one ever went overboard and stopped to take the rowlocks out. What’ll we do with it?”
“Tow it over to the island,” answered Bob promptly. “That’s maybe where it belongs. It’s a derelict and we can claim salvage. She’s a fine little boat, isn’t she?”
When they worked the canoe up to the tender’s bow the mystery was explained. A few feet of rope, frayed at the end, told the story.
“She’s blown away from the landing,” said Dan. “That painter probably sawed itself in two during the night; probably rubbed against the edge of the wharf. We’ll claim the reward if we can find the owner.”
So they took the end of the rope aboard and tried to paddle away. They’d probably been there yet had not Nelson and Tom come up presently and lent assistance. A half-filled rowboat is no light tow in a heavy sea, and by the time they had beached it they were all well tired out. After turning the water out of it, and wringing the sweater until it was somewhat drier, they set out on a tour of discovery.
There were no habitations in sight from their landing-place, but a few minutes’ walk took them around a corner of the island and brought them in sight of a sumptuous camp building which, planned like a Swiss chalet, stood on a little bluff above the edge of the lake and towered up among the trees. Jutting into the water was a long pier with several craft of different kinds about it, while further out a sixty-foot steam yacht was moored.