It may seem that in exercising such extreme caution, Injun was, perhaps, over-doing it; but as a matter of fact, the boy was right. It will be remembered that he was a wild thing, and brought up in the wilds, where a good deal depends upon caution and vigilance. It is the way of wild animals, except possibly those which fear nothing, or those that are notably stupid, to ponder a strange situation very carefully before rushing into it.
Many of them will assure themselves of a way to get out as well as to get in; and if the matter is at all mysterious and not understandable, will avoid it altogether unless driven by extreme hunger. Wild men and wild animals are suspicious of everything—a strange noise, a strange scent, or a strange circumstance, in the wilderness calls for investigation. Frequently, this extreme caution is the price of life, either to man or to beast, and both know this and proceed accordingly.
A very slight thing had aroused Injun's suspicion. Whitey had not noticed it, at all. Before the door of the cabin were two or three small, freshly-cut chips. Freshly-cut chips indicated recent human presence beyond any doubt. It would be better to know who the human was and whether he was at home before making their own presence known. The island was not a place for tourists, being far off the track that such people usually take; nor was the person, whoever he might turn out to be, a permanent resident. Injun had been over the island many times in the past spring and for two or three years before, and was thoroughly familiar with it; in fact, he had occupied the cabin on the occasion of his last visit. He remembered exactly how he had left the place, and could see, very plainly, that some one had succeeded him. He remembered that he had left the door open, but it was now closed—animals or winds seldom close doors, especially doors that are hung on leather hinges and have to be pushed along the floor.
Injun circled the cabin, leaving Whitey still concealed in the underbrush. At one point, Injun saw that fire-wood had been recently gathered and there were foot-prints in the damp earth made by high-heeled boots. This was proof positive—if any further proof was needed than that which Injun already had. He glided noiselessly to the wall of the cabin at the rear, and peeked through the chinks in the wall. He could see that there was no one in the cabin, and he came around to the side where Whitey was. He called to him, and both boys entered.
There had been a fire upon the hearth a few hours before, and the sleeping bunk was filled with fir boughs. Nothing in the cabin indicated the identity of the occupant, however, and he seemed to have no extra clothes or the usual conveniences that a camper would be likely to bring.
"What's all this about?" asked Whitey, smiling rather tolerantly. "I don't see anything so mysterious in finding that a man has been here. Why shouldn't anybody come that wants to? We don't own the island!"
Injun shrugged his shoulders, and kept his own counsel; but it was very plain that he was not satisfied with things. He didn't like being on the island with a strange man, and not know who the man was. He was "from Missouri," so to speak.
They left the cabin, Injun being careful to disturb nothing, and to close the door; and took pains to leave no mark of their visit.
The boys skirted the western side of the island on their way back, and Injun set a rather fast pace. He was careful, too, to move with as little noise as possible and to avoid leaving more of a trail than was necessary. Those things are simply second-nature to an Indian when he is in any doubt about his environment.
At length, the boys arrived at the lake at the point where they had left the canoe. They made their way cautiously through the thick brush, but as they reached the water's edge, they could see that the canoe was gone! A hurried but thorough search, failed to reveal it. The boys were alone on the island, with a man who, perhaps, was not their friend!