But when night came, Henry and Ross took out the canoe again, and Paul asked to go with them.

“All right,” said Henry, “you come with us, and Sol, you and Jim Hart can do the fishing and the quarreling, with nobody to bother you.”

“Jest my luck,” said Shif’less Sol, “to be left on a desert island with an ornery cuss like Jim Hart.”

Henry, setting the paddle against the bank, gave the canoe a great shove, and it shot far out into the lake.  Paul looked back.  Already their island was the solid dark blot it had been the night before, while the waters moved darkly under a light, northern wind.

“Sit very quiet, Paul,” said Henry.  “Tom and I will do the paddling.”

Paul was more than content to obey, and he remained very still while the other two, with long, sweeping strokes, sent the canoe toward a point where the enclosing bank was lowest.

“Don’t you think we’d better stay in the boat, Henry?” said Ross.

“Yes; game must be thick hereabouts, and if we wait long enough we’re sure to find a deer coming down to drink.”

They cruised for a while along the shore, keeping well in the darkest shadow until they reached a point where the keen eyes of Henry Ware saw, despite the darkness, that many hoofs had trampled.

“This is a favorite drinking place,” he said.  “Back us into those bushes, Tom, and we’ll wait.”

Ross pushed the canoe into some bushes until it was hidden, though the occupants could see through the leaves whatever might come to the water to drink, and they took up their rifles.  They lay a little to the north of the drinking place, and the wind blew from the south.

“I don’t think we’ll have to wait long,” said Henry.

Then they remained absolutely silent, but within fifteen minutes they heard a heavy trampling in the woods.  It steadily grew louder, and was mingled with snortings and puffings.  Whatever animal made it—­and it was undoubtedly a big one—­was coming toward them.  Paul was filled with curiosity, but he knew too much to do more just now than breathe.

A huge bull buffalo stumbled from the trees to the edge of the lake, where the moonlight had just begun to come.  He was a monstrous fellow, and Paul knew by his snapping red eyes that he was in no good humor.  Henry shook his head to indicate that he was no game for them, and Paul understood.  Whatever they killed they intended to put in the canoe, and then clean and dress it on the island.  The angry monster, an outcast from some herd, was safe.

The buffalo drank, puffing and snorting between drinks, and then stamped his way back into the forest.  Still the hunters waited in ambush.  Some other animal, with a long, sinuous body, crept down to the margin and lapped the water.  Paul did not know what it was, and he could not break the silence to ask the others; but after drinking for a few minutes it drew its long, lithe body back through the undergrowth, and passed out of sight.  Then nothing came for a while, because this was a ferocious beast of prey, and to the harmless creatures of the wilderness the air about the drinking place was filled for a space with poison.