Rube watched the approaching canoe. It had appeared suddenly from beyond a jutting promontory of spruce trees.
"Dunno," he answered, "don't reco'nize him. Seems like as Gid had loaned the canoe t' a stranger. An' yet I seem t' have seen that pinky-red shirt before, an' that straight-rimmed Stetson hat."
"Looks t' me like Sheriff Blagg," said Kiddie. "What's he want, cavortin' about on the lake searchin' for us? He's been t' our first campin' ground. Now he's shapin' for the island, led by our fire-smoke."
"Looks to me like Sheriff Blagg," said Kiddie.
Kiddie whistled a shrill, long, tremulous note. He was an uncommonly good whistler. The sound was echoed and re-echoed from every chasm and cañon on the far shores of the lake; it might have been heard many miles away.
Above the island and over the forest the air was sprinkled with startled birds; from the dark ravine of Laramie Pass a pair of eagles took flight.
Isa Blagg drew his paddle and waved his hat. He followed Kiddie's canoe into the little bay that was its mooring place on the farther side of the island.
"Located you at last!" he said, as he stepped ashore. "Gid Birkenshaw told me I sh'd find you somewheres around the lake; but he didn't say nothin' 'bout your bein' camped on an island. I bin searchin' along the shores; found one o' your campin' grounds in among the trees, though you'd cleaned it up so's it wasn't easy ter be sure it was a campin' place at all. Guess you didn't intend anybody ter foller on your tracks, or you'd ha' left some signs around. How do, Rube?"