on either hand, showing overhead a myriad of stars, the river widened and they came out at last on the vast dark flood of the open lake. The canoe’s bow wavered a little, then turned toward shore where Shokatan, grasping an overhanging branch, pulled it up to the bank and stepped out.
“The rest of the way you go alone,” he said. “Around that point, through the channel, then when you are in the open lake again make for the nearest sandy beach. You will see Oscar Dansk’s house on the hill above.”
Before Hugh could speak, to protest against being left, to thank the Indian for his help, he had pushed out the boat again and had disappeared into the underbrush. Wearily the boy took up his paddle once more and drove the canoe steadily onward parallel to the wooded shore.
He was thinking of what might be before him and of the strange journey that lay behind, but for the most part his tired brain was concentrated on the rise and dip, rise and dip of the paddle. One detail of his night’s adventures alone seemed to stand out in his mind, only because it was the
