Our good host hurried the lagging hours with many a tale of the river and that island we were soon to visit, once the refuge of Tadusac, the old river pirate, so he told us, with a cave now haunted by some ghost.  We started for the shore near ten o’clock, the innkeeper leading us with a lantern, its light flickering in a west wind.  The sky was cloudy, the night dark.  Our host lent us the lantern, kindly offering to build a bonfire on the beach at eleven, to light us home.

“Careful, boys,” said the innkeeper, as we got aboard.  “Aim straight fer th’ head o’ th’ island, Can’t ye see it—­right over yer heads there?  ’Member, they ’s awful rough water below.”

We pushed off, D’ri leading.  I could see nothing of the island, but D’ri had better eyes, and kept calling me as he went ahead.  After a few strokes of the paddle I could see on the dark sky the darker mass of tree-tops.

“Better light up,” I suggested.  We were now close in.

“Hush!” he hissed.  Then, as I came up to him, he went on, whispering:  “‘T ain’t bes’ t’ mek no noise here.  Don’ know none tew much ‘bout this here business.  Don’ cal’late we ‘re goin’ t’ hev any trouble, but if we dew—­Hark!”

We had both heard a stir in the bushes, and stuck our paddles in the sand, listening.  After a little silence I heard D’ri get up and step stealthily into the water and buckle on his sword.  Then I could hear him sinking the canoe and shoving her anchor deep into the sand.  He did it with no noise that, fifty feet away, could have been distinguished from that of the ever-murmuring waters.  In a moment he came and held my canoe, while I also took up my trusty blade, stepping out of the canoe into the shallow water.  Then he shoved her off a little, and sank her beside the other.  I knew not his purpose, and made no question of it, following him as he strode the shore with measured paces, the lantern upon his arm.  Then presently he stuck his paddle into the bushes, and mine beside it.  We were near the head of the island, walking on a reedy strip of soft earth at the river margin.  After a few paces we halted to listen, but heard only the voice of the water and the murmur of pines.  Then we pushed through a thicket of small fir trees to where we groped along in utter darkness among the big tree trunks on a muffle-footing.  After a moment or so we got a spray of light.  We halted, peering at the glow that now sprinkled out through many a pinhole aperture in a fairy lattice of pine needles.

My heart was beating loudly, for there was the promised lantern.  Was I not soon to see the brighter light of those dear faces?  It was all the kind of thing I enjoyed then,—­the atmosphere of peril and romance,—­wild youth that I was.  It is a pity, God knows, I had so little consideration for old D’ri; but he loved me, and—­well, he himself had some pleasure in excitement.

We halted for only a moment, pushing boldly through a thicket of young pines into the light.  A lantern hung on the bough of a tall tree, and beneath it was a wide opening well carpeted with moss and needles.  We peered off into the gloom, but saw nothing.