Isa turned and looked up into the tree.
"No," he said, "until you mentioned it, I wasn't aware that there was any warblin' in the programme."
"Don't you pay any heed to Rube, sheriff," Kiddie interposed. "It's a special hobby of his to know a bird by its notes. The songster you're listenin' to now is just a whip-poor-will. It starts every evening precisely at sunset. When it quits singing, we reckon it's time to crawl into our sleepin' bags."
Isa Blagg was in no hurry for the bird to cease its singing. Indeed, it was long after the usual bed-time when at length he consented to leave the bivouac fire.
On the following morning he awoke with alarm to find himself alone on the island. He searched for Kiddie and Rube, and was beginning to fear that they had marooned him, when at last he discovered them swimming far out in the lake, where he had never thought of looking for them. They were so far away that he supposed he would have ample time to prepare breakfast for them; but on going to the fire he found the kettle boiling, the clean plates set ready, and the cut bacon waiting in the frying-pan. He strode to the creek and saw that his canoe was already loaded with the neatly-packed pelts that he was to take with him to Birkenshaw's.
"Gee!" he said to himself. "Never seen such a pair as them two in all my days. I ain't in it. They gets in front o' me every time!"
"We didn't ask you to come out and have a swim with us, Isa," greeted Kiddie as he stepped ashore.
"No use if you had done, Kiddie," returned Isa. "I never been in deep water in my life. None the less, I've gotten a healthy appetite for that bacon. Sleepin' on a island suits me. I'm real glad I came."
He paddled off in his canoe immediately after breakfast, when also Kiddie and Rube prepared to break camp.