ys!" cried Darry, as Danny Grin, with a few
deft strokes of the paddle, propelled the craft away from the
shore.

"And let that cheer be the last," called back Tom, in a low voice
that nevertheless traveled backward over the water. "Don't frighten
my bass from coming up to take a look at me."

"Tom surely is the sincere old bass fisher, isn't he?" demanded
Harry Hazelton.

"I don't know," Dick made answer. "We can tell better when we've
seen him hook and land a few fish."

"Paddle slowly right across the lake, Danny," begged Tom, watching
his trolling line.

From the camp the boys watched until they grew tired of the monotony.
Reade did not seem destined to secure a single "strike" from
bass that afternoon.

"At half-past four o'clock," proposed Darrin, "I'll go down to
the old pier and see what I can do toward catching a string of
perch for to-night."

"I'll go with you," nodded Hazelton.

"All right," agreed Dick. "Greg and I will get in the water and
wood, and see to whatever else we're to have for supper. I don't
believe Tom will bring us anything."

Nor did Reade himself believe it. For two solid hours Dan Dalzell
paddled lazily wherever his skipper told him to. The nearest
that Tom seemed destined to get a "strike" was when his hook caught
in the weeds.

At last they were some distance out on the lake, perhaps a hundred
and fifty yards from shore. Reade, wholly discouraged, was about
to give the order to make for camp.

Turning about in the canoe, Reade discovered that Dalzell was
in a brown study, slowly lifting his paddle and lifting it out
again, but without watching his course.

"Look out, Danny boy," cautioned Tom, "or you'll scratch the sides
of the canoe on those bushes right ahead."

Dan glanced up with a start, backing water. They had now passed
in under the shadow of trees, for the sun was low, and it was
somewhat dark and gloomy in there.

"It's queer for bushes to be growing so far out from shore," muttered
Tom, "and it shows how shallow the water must be about here.
You had better back water out of here, Danny."

Dalzell was about to do so when his glance fell on something that
halted his arm.

In the same moment Tom Reade saw the object that had arrested
Dan's attention.

From between the bushes peered a pair of deep-set, frightened
eyes that looked out from the haggard, despairing face of a man
whose head alone was visible.

Just for the moment neither Tom nor Dal