Sandy still wasn’t satisfied. “That doesn’t answer the question about why he wanted to leave in such a hurry.”
“No,” Mr. Cook had to agree. “It doesn’t.” He started to say more, but just then the path took a sharp turn and they came face to face with the spectacle of the river gathering itself for its rush through Dog Leg Falls.
Mr. Cook stood and watched the lashing water of the rapids with a look of admiration. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” he said.
Behind his back, Sandy and Mike exchanged glances.
“That all depends,” Sandy ventured uncertainly.
Mr. Cook turned and smiled. “I guess it does, Sandy. I sure would hate to try to battle through it on a raft, wouldn’t you?”
Sandy coughed and turned away. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he muttered. “Er—don’t you think we’d better start to work?”
Mr. Cook tore himself away from the sight of the rapids and nodded. “Good idea. Let’s look for a shooting range.”
“Over there.” Sandy pointed. “There’s a nice little hill and about fifty yards of clearing.”
“All right,” Mr. Cook said, picking up the gun cases. “You boys set up the target.”