The circumnavigation of the lake by the Miamis lasted throughout the remainder of the day, and when the twilight came, the canoes were lost in its shade toward the southern end of the sheet of water.

“We’re safe,” said Jim Hart, “but we’ve still got to keep close.  They may hang about here fur days.”

“What about Henry and Ross and Sol?” asked Paul anxiously.  “On their way back they may run right into that wasp’s nest.”

“‘Tain’t likely,” replied Jim Hart.  “Our boys know what they’re a-doin’.  But I wish them Miamis would go away so’s I could light a fire an’ cook some fresh meat.”

CHAPTER XII

THE BELT BEARERS

Paul and Jim Hart waited several days, never once venturing from the protecting shadows of the woods, and they found the burden very great.  The little island was like a cage, and Jim Hart groaned, moreover, because he could not exercise his skill in the art of cooking.

“These cold victuals,” he said, “besides bein’ unpleasant to the inside, are a disgrace to me.  I jest got to cook somethin’.”

Finally, he built up a bed of coals on a very dark night, when it was impossible for anyone to see either their sheltered glow or the smoke they sent out, and he broiled juicy steaks from the body of a deer that they had hung up in a tree.

“Isn’t it fine, Paul?” he said, as they ate hungrily.

“Fine’s no name for it,” replied Paul.  “It’s great, splendid, grand, magnificent, surpassing, unapproachable!  Are those the terms, Jim?”

“I don’t know jest what all uv ’em mean,” replied Jim Hart, “but they shorely sound right to me.”

They saw the Indian canoes on the lake once more, but the Miamis seemed to be fishing, and did not come anywhere near the island.  Paul appreciated then how great had been their continual need of caution.

A day or two later there was a magnificent thunder storm, despite the lateness of the season.  The heavenly artillery roared grandly, and lakes, hills, and forest swam at times in a glare that dazzled Jim Hart.  After that it rained hard, and they clung to the shelter of their hut, which was fortunately water-tight now.  The rain ceased by and by, but the clouds remained in the sky, and night came very thick and dark.  Jim Hart suggested that it would be a good time to do a little fishing, and Paul was ready and willing.

They paddled out silently a short distance from the island, where the water was not too shallow, and let down the lines.

They waited some time and received no bites; but as this was nothing unusual, owing to the crudity of their fishing tackle, they persisted patiently.  The night deepened and darkened, and they could not see the surface of the lake fifty yards away.  The water, moved by a light wind, bubbled faintly against the sides of the canoe.  Neither spoke, but sat in silence, waiting hopefully for a pull on the lines.