THE MAN ON THE ISLAND
All that Injun had said or intimated about the island was more than
justified by the actuality. It rose to a peak at the center, but was
filled with gorges and small canyons, and there were two or three
little streams that splashed and rippled their way down to the lake.
There were no trails, and had Whitey been alone, he would have found
great difficulty in retracing his steps to the point where they had
landed, except by making his way to the lake and following the edge
until he came to the spot.
For several hours they rambled over the island, ate their fill of
the luscious wild blueberries that grew in profusion, but failed to
bring down any of the wild ducks that swam about the bays and inlets,
although they fired at them several times.
As they skirted the northern end of the island, high up on the rocky
and precipitous bank, they came upon a cabin. Whitey was for advancing
at once and investigating it, but Injun held him back--it was part of
Injun's policy never to rush blindly into a strange situation, and
never to take anything for granted. From the thick underbrush that
concealed them, Injun examined the place carefully for at least five
minutes before he ventured to come cautiously out of cover and approach
the cabin. Even then, he advanced with great caution and without making
a sound.
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!
"Well, what do you know about that?" said Whitey, in dismay. "It must
be the man who lives in the cabin who has taken our canoe!"