Yet neither cared to admit his dread to the other. So, talking
rather busily, they remained on the spot for fully another ten
minutes.

"We won't see anything come out of the water now," Tom asserted
at last. "Even if we do, it will be a drowned man."

"I guess we may as well get back to camp," Danny agreed. "Yet
it is going to be an awfully creepy night for all of us, with
this weird mystery of the lake on our minds."

"Don't paddle yet," begged Tom. "I'll give a hail, and see if
that brings any answer."

Raising his voice, Reade shouted lustily:

"Hello, there, friend? Are you safe? Want any help?"

"Anything we can do for you, friend?" bawled Dan Dalzell, in his
most resonant tone.

Only the mocking echoes of their own questions came back to them.

"Beat the water with the paddle. Danny," advised Reade after
they had waited for some moments. "We've more than a mile to
go. Whip up the water. If you get tired, pass the paddle back
to me."

"I'm not sorry to get away from that place," breathed Dalzell,
after at least a hundred lusty strokes.