“Well, there’s a couple of hammocks on the veranda. That’s good enough for yours truly.”
“Going to leave me here alone?”
“I don’t give a hang what you do. You can let the old bear sleep with you if you want to. It’s me for the hotel.” And he began lacing up his boots.
“Well, I’m not going to stick around here all alone—besides, you’d never find your way back alone in the dark.”
“That’s a good alibi!” said Bob. “Guess you don’t want to stay much yourself.”
“As a matter of fact, I don’t—not alone,” Joe admitted.
They gathered up their provisions and blankets, poured the water for their morning coffee on the fire, and started back for the trail. It was hard work finding it, in the inky dark, and every time they heard a noise in the blackness around them Bob yelled, “Beat it, you bear!” with the evident idea that would drive the creature away. They knew when they reached the trail only by the feeling of hard, even ground under their feet, but at the hotel the starlight over the lake was clear and comforting, and sneaking up on the veranda, they spread their blankets in the hammocks, and went to sleep again, with the soft lap, lap, lap of the water on the beach just below as a lullaby.
Joe woke early and roused Bob.
“Say, if we don’t want to be guyed for the rest of the trip, we’ve got to beat it from here now, ’fore anybody spots us, and get our breakfast up the shore some place.”
“I know!” Bob whispered. “We’ll take a fish-pole and a boat from the boat-house and catch a breakfast! We can pay for the boat when the man gets up. What time is it?”