DISAPPOINTMENT.
As the speck drew nearer all doubt vanished, it was the captain's canoe with the old sailor himself in the stern paddling with slow, weary strokes.
Walter's cheer had brought forth his companions from the wigwam, and all now gathered on the bank to welcome the wanderer.
Slowly the canoe drew in to the shore, and Walter at last was able to catch the painter and haul the light craft's bow up on the sand. Its occupant sat still in the stern unable to move. His clothes were stained and tattered, his hands torn and bleeding from many scratches, and his pale, haggard face told of hardship and suffering.
"Don't look scairt, lads," he called out cheerily, "I ain't hurt none; jes' scratched up a bit, an' powerful tired. I reckon you'll have to give me a hand to get me out. I'm cramped that bad I can't move a leg."
Walter and Chris flew to the old sailor's help and between them assisted him out of the canoe and up into the wigwam. Then Chris quickly kindled a fire and soon presented the weary man with a gourd of steaming coffee and the cold food which Walter hastened to bring from the canoe.
The captain ate like one famished, while the boys stood around eager to hear his story.
"I'll spin my yarn as soon as I've rested a hit, lads," he said, as he finished the last morsel of food. "I'm clean spent, now, and want to stretch out for a while."
The boys helped him up and onto his bed, which he had no sooner touched than he was fast asleep.
It was noon before the old sailor awoke to find a hot dinner ready and the boys patiently waiting. He was surprised to find that his stiffness had nearly all disappeared, and, except for the cuts on hands and face, he was as well as ever again.