“We’ll play we’re prospectors and look for signs of iron deposits on your land, as we go along,” said Rawson.

They went steadily on for over an hour, pausing only to test inviting rocks with their hammers and to allow Tom to take some photos of birds and plants.  Unfortunately the foxes’ den appeared to be deserted that spring, and Ralph felt a pang of regret at the thought that perhaps the foxes that usually took up their abode there had fallen victims to his traps.  “I hope I won’t have to set any more traps for the wild creatures of the woods and streams,” he said to himself.  “I see now it’s much better sport to get snapshots of them.”

Presently the glitter of the little lake among the trees attracted them, and they pushed on through the thickets down to the shore.

“Wonder if it’s too cold for a swim?” said Tom, eagerly.

“A quick plunge won’t do us any harm,” assented Rawson.  “Shall we try it, boys?”.

All were heartily in favor of the idea.  In a few minutes they had stripped off their clothes and waded into the water.

“Don’t go far out!” cautioned the young Scout Master.  “The water’s none too warm at this time of year, and anyone of us might get a cramp suddenly without a moment’s warning.”

While the boys amused themselves by racing close to the shore, he swam ahead of them, but no further out.  Rounding a wooded point that jutted out into the lake, he found, to his surprise, that he was facing Loon Island.  He had no idea that he had come so far.  The boys were not in sight, but their shouts and laughter assured him that they were all right, obeying his instructions; so he struck out toward the little island.  A few vigorous strokes brought him to the shore—–­he could almost have waded across from the point—–­and he climbed upon a rock and sat in the warm sunshine.  How delicious it felt on his body!  What fun to stretch his muscles in the exercise which he liked best of all—–­swimming!

“Nothing to equal the first dip of the season!” said the young man, half aloud.  “I feel like a schoolboy in a pond!”

All at once his quick ear caught the faint splash of a paddle close at hand, and he sat motionless on the rock, and waited.  The sound grew more distinct, and presently a canoe, manned by a solitary individual, came into sight around the shore of the island.  Rawson uttered an exclamation of surprise, for the man was “Injun Joe.”

Bareheaded and stripped to the waist, his thick blue-black hair tousled in the breeze, his lean, muscular, lithe torso gleaming like bronze in the sunlight, Joe paddled with a strong, swift stroke which sent the light craft dancing over the water.  As he approached the rock on which George was seated he moderated his speed, and swerved toward a strip of beach.  For a moment he hesitated, holding the canoe still by extending the paddle flat out on the water; then he headed straight for a safe landing between two boulders.