“Same as there was basis for Poke’s Saracen, eh? I could have told him, offhand, that he’d get enough push from his propeller to trundle him down-hill, but I had to do a lot of precise calculation to find out that he couldn’t fly far.”
It was on the tip of Sam’s tongue to remind the mathematician that his exact knowledge was reached a trifle late to save Poke from disaster, but he refrained from controversy. Step and the Trojan came along; then Orkney and Poke. Sam pointed out the ruins; there was animated discussion. The majority stood with Sam, and opined that pool and cabin site had been found. Then arrived Herman, highly excited and displaying a ten-inch trout he had caught a quarter-mile down-stream. In a jiffy the anglers were scattered along the brook, fishing as for dear life.
Given half a dozen healthy youngsters making holiday, you have a combination which does not make for haste. No more trout were taken, but much time was occupied. The afternoon was half gone, when Sam, reminded of the long tramp home, called the clan together.
As was to be expected, there was less fun and more work about the return journey. Partly for variety and partly because he believed he could save distance, Sam chose a new route, a short cut, as he supposed, and one taking advantage of a long stretch of country road. The grass growing between the wheel tracks showed that it was not much traveled, but when the boys had followed it for some distance they met a farmer jogging leisurely homeward. From him they learned that they were still far from the lake—or the “pond,” as he preferred to call it.
“It’s risin’ three mile,” he said. “Shortest way’ll be for you to stick to the road till you come to a steepish hill off to the left. Climb it, and you’ll be able to see an end of the pond—that is, if the woods ain’t growed up so’s to hide it. I hain’t been sightseein’ for a good while, and I don’t know whether the water shows or not.”
Sam thanked him for the directions. The “steepish hill,” in fact, was one of the landmarks by which he intended to steer, and as the hike was resumed, he kept a sharp lookout for the abrupt slopes. Estimates of distance, though, are seldom accurate, and the boys had tramped on for fully an hour before the hill was reached. From its top the lake was not visible, the woods having grown sufficiently to hide the water, but Sam had no difficulty in placing the depression in which it lay. But lake and camp were still far away, three or four miles at the least.
There was a little mild grumbling.
“Huh! Guess you must have taken the longest way ’round, Sam,” Poke suggested.
“Gee, but I feel as if my legs were doing double duty!” Poke chimed in.
“That’s because you’re built for low gear, Poke,” chuckled Herman.