A shelving rock, which ended abruptly in deep water a few feet from shore, offered the best landing-place for a heavily laden canoe, and the Indian brought it alongside that point.
Hartley sauntered wearily down to meet his unexpected and unwelcome guests.
“My goodness, Hartley!” exclaimed Connorton, the moment he saw the inventor, “I’m glad we’ve found you at last! We’ve had a devil of a time doing it.”
“If it was so difficult,” murmured Hartley, “why didn’t you give it up?”
“Too important,” replied Connorton. “Help me out, and I’ll tell you about it. I’m pretty near done up.”
With some difficulty, the large man was transferred from the canoe to the rock, and, to one who knew him in the city, he was certainly an extraordinary spectacle. He was dirty, disheveled, and badly sunburned, having acquired dirt on the portages and blisters on the water. Moreover, the khaki suit that he wore was too small, the derby hat seemed sadly out of place, and his position in the canoe had so cramped him that he walked like a cripple.
“Had to sleep under the stars last night,” he complained, after introducing Paulson. “Thought we’d locate you the first day, but you’d gone farther than we expected. Never had such an experience! But that fire looks good to me,” he added. “Let’s get next to it and come down to business.”
Hartley laid a detaining hand on his arm. “I’m not in the humor for business to-night,” he objected. “Let us look out over the moonlit lake—”
“Damn the lake!” exploded Connorton. “I’ve had enough of it. Let’s get down to business. It will take but a few minutes to explain—”
“To-morrow,” insisted Hartley. “I may be in the humor for business to-morrow; but to-night I must insist—”