“I didn’t realize we’d covered that much ground.”
“That much water, you mean,” said Pod.
“Very well; I stand corrected.”
Chot’s predictions came pretty near working out, too, as the other boys found. A steady gait, with occasional periods of rest, sent them up the river to within eight miles of Fort Edward by ten o’clock that night. That was the biggest day’s paddling since they had left Winton, and each of the boys was glad to roll up in his blanket and sleep after the usual bed time lunch.
They were up with the sun again, however, and after a plunge in the river, felt greatly refreshed and in fine fettle for another day’s work.
Just as the siren of a factory on the west shore was announcing the arrival of the noon hour, the Comrades sighted Sandy Point, and ten minutes later had made a landing, arranged with a boy to guard their canoes, and were eating ravenously in a neighboring restaurant, where new milk and juicy steaks, the latter smothered in onions and cream potatoes, made them glad they were able for a time to forsake the river.
The meal over, the Comrades went to the depot and inquired about the next train for Lake George Station. They were informed by the agent that two-thirty was the time. The station was thirteen miles distant, and the run was made in about thirty minutes. The train was what is known in railroad circles as a “local,” and stopped at all stations en route.
The railroad was not far from the river, and the Comrades had no trouble in carrying their canoes to the depot, where they had them checked, after first purchasing tickets for Lake George Station.
It was three o’clock when they picked up the canoes at the latter place and started for the shore of the lake. They did not stop in the village, as they were anxious to reach Bert’s home before dark. A light breeze was ruffling the surface of the lake when they embarked, but not enough to in any way disturb the canoes. With the wind at their backs, and hugging the east shore, the boys paddled rapidly away from Lake George Station. Three coves, or arms, of the lake, jut into the land in this vicinity, all within the space of eight miles. On the third of these was the village of Kattskill Bay, near where Bert Creighton lived with his parents.
Chot had the topography of the region well in mind from Bert’s description, and from a map of Lake George and vicinity which he carried in his pocket, and toward evening he turned his canoe sharply to the right, as a stretch of water, which he felt must be the right cove, lay before them.