At this moment a crash in the thick bushes, growing a few rods from the shore, broke the calm and peaceful stillness of the night.
An instant later and the form of a man uprose from the gloom of his covert.
The moon was just peeping above the Adirondacks’ dark crest, and it was light enough in the forest for one to have seen that the man was past the prime of life, though his stalwart form had borne the burden of years without losing its erectness.
He was somewhat roughly clad, and his long hair and flowing beard were unkempt. His eyes flashed brightly, but a puzzled look rested on his sun-bronzed face. His words, that fell involuntarily from his lips, furnished the key to his thoughts.
“Waal, I hev got to believe it now. But if that don’t beat all nater, then my name an’t Jarius Bede. See the thing swim along, and there an’t been a living creetur near it since long afore sundown! I can swear to that, for I an’t let my eye off on’t in all that time. It is queer.”
As he finished his soliloquy the speaker went down to the shore, but he did not step upon the sandy beach.
“I won’t do that,” he muttered, “for like as not I should find myself in the midst of that pond afore I could say Bob Bungles.”
There was nothing to explain the mystery he had witnessed. The other boats had not moved.
“Waal, waal. I’ll trundle off hum,” concluded the mystified Jarius Bede; “but as long as I stand up I know I shall never see the beat of that!”
Throwing his gun over his shoulder, for he was armed with a long, single-barreled old queen’s arm that had evidently seen its share of service, he left the place with long, loping strides, in the direction of home.