"I'm not so anxious, Sam. It's blacker than a stack of black cats out there. I'd rather stay on the porch."
"Oh, pshaw, Tommy! Be a sport. With a lantern to keep us company, there's nothing to be afraid of."
"Oh, suffering catfish! Who said anything about being afraid, Sam Randall?" exclaimed Tom, flaring up. "Sure we'll go." He settled his cap firmly on his head, and then, with another glance at the distant beacon, rose to his feet.
In a few minutes the Ramblers were at the wharf. The water looked very black, and it seemed so silent and lonely that Tom, despite his words, felt many misgivings as he stepped aboard the "Speedy."
Sam lighted a lantern; then the sail was run up, and within a quarter of an hour they were well on their way toward the far end of the lake.
"It's burning brighter than ever, Tommy, so I guess it ain't the old shack," observed Sam; "but what in thunder do they want such a whopping big bonfire for?"
"Might be 'Little Bill' and his pals having some fun."
"Perhaps. This is bully sport, eh?"
Soon the thickly-wooded shore of Hemlock Island began to separate itself from the lake, and the lofty crags of Promontory rose dimly against the star-studded sky.
At the proper time, Sam Randall skilfully brought the "Speedy" about, and they prepared to enter the channel.