Along the wet, blurred shore we cruised, the mist getting thicker and
more like rain. Here and there we entered some little bay or nook that
from a distance looked as if it might be an outlet. Eventually we lost
all direction and simply investigated at random wherever any appearance
seemed inviting. Once we went up a long slough and were almost ready to
fire the signal shots when we discovered our mistake. It seemed a narrow
escape from the humiliation of giving a false alarm. What had become of
the others we did not know. Evidently the lake was a big one and they
might be miles away. Eddie had the only compass, though this would seem
to be of no special advantage.
At last, just before us, the shore parted--a definite, wide parting it
was, that when we pushed into it did not close and come to nothing, but
kept on and on, opening out ahead. We went a good way in, to make sure.
The water seemed very still, but then we remembered the flatness of the
country. Undoubtedly this was the outlet, and we had discovered it. It
was only natural that we should feel a certain elation in our having had
the good fortune--the instinct, as it were--to proceed aright. I lifted
my gun and it was with a sort of triumphant flourish that I fired the
two signal shots.
It may be that the reader will not fully understand the importance of
finding a little thing like the outlet of a lake on a wet, disagreeable
day when the other fellows are looking for it, too; and here, to-day,
far away from that northern desolation, it does not seem even to me a
very great affair whether our canoe or Eddie's made the discovery. But
for some reason it counted a lot then, and I suppose Del and I were
unduly elated over our success. It was just as well that we were, for
our period of joy was brief. In the very instant while my finger was
still touching the trigger, we heard come soggily through the mist, from
far down the chill, gray water, one shot and then another.