“Who cares if he is?” exclaimed Lester.  “I’ve come too far to back out now.  I wouldn’t do it if Don and all his friends stood in my way.”

“All right.  If you are not afraid, I am not.  Be careful when you cast off that chain.  You know that sound travels a long way on a still night like this.”

Lester was careful, and the boat was pushed off and got under way so noiselessly that a person standing on the bank would not have known that there was anything going on.  Bob, who knew just where the shooting-box was located, sat in the stern and did the steering, at the same time assisting Lester in paddling.  The heavy boat moved easily through the water, and before another half hour had passed they were at their journey’s end.

“Hold up now,” whispered Bob, “and let’s make sure that everything is all right before we touch the shore.”

Lester drew in his paddle and listened.  He heard a whistling in the air, as a solitary duck flew swiftly up the lake, and that was the only sound that broke the stillness.  The trees on the shore loomed up darkly against the sky, and presented the appearance of a solid wall of ebony.  Lester could not see anything that looked like a shooting-box, but Bob knew it was there, and when he had listened long enough to satisfy himself that there was nobody in it or about it, he brought the bow of the boat around and paddled toward the shore.

“Which way is it from here?” asked Lester, when the two had disembarked.  “I can’t see anything.”

“Hold fast to my coat-tail,” replied Bob, “and I’ll show it to you in a minute.”

Lester being thus taken in tow was safely conducted up the bank.  Presently he heard a door unlatched and opened, a match was struck and he found himself inside the shooting-box.  He could scarcely have been more surprised if he had found himself inside a little palace.  The shooting-box was not a shanty, as he expected to find it, but a conveniently-arranged and neatly-constructed house.  He borrowed a few matches of Bob and proceeded to take a thorough survey of it.  “Don must have spent a good deal of time in fixing this up,” said he.

“He certainly has,” replied Bob, “and he handles tools like a born carpenter, too.  I suppose this is a nice place to get away to when the fellows are here shooting over their decoys.  Joe Packard says so, at any rate.  They have mattresses and bed clothes in the bunks, a carpet and rugs on the floor, camp chairs and stools enough for the whole party, and they sit here of evenings and crack hickory-nuts and tell stories and have boss times.”

“It’s almost a pity to break up their fun.”

“It’s a greater pity that Don should take money out of our pockets and put it into those of that beggar, Dave Evans,” answered Bob, spitefully.

“That’s so,” said Lester, who grew angry every time he thought of it.  “Set her agoing!”