“There she is,” muttered Abner, pointing to a long sugar-loaf shaped ridge. “This stream comes along its base. The disputed line is on the east end. If we can make pretty near the end we’ll take to the woods.”
For the rest of the afternoon dead water was encountered, which not only lessened the drudgery but also allowed more time to examine the banks. Whenever possible Abner hugged the east shore, believing those ahead would camp on that side as it would take them to the base of the ridge.
Several times Stanley gave a false alarm, mistaking some wood sound for a human voice. Especially deceiving to him was the conversational tone of the coon as twilight gathered. Although fooled by it the night he left the lean-to to evidence his courage, he could not rid himself of the belief but what he heard two men talking in low tones each time one of the animals sounded his note.
“We’ll camp here,” abruptly informed Abner, turning the canoe ashore. “And don’t build a fire,” he added as they quietly disembarked and threw their supplies on the shore. “That is, not till we find out if our friends are in this neighborhood.”
For some distance up stream and in back
