Dave Brandon was not averse¹ to being left alone. Nature, in its wildness and solitude², appealed to him forcibly, and he loved to contemplate³ it in silence and with naught⁴ to distract his attention.  
When his friends disappeared in the woods, he lazily stretched himself on a grassy⁵ knoll⁶, drew out his volume of Bryant, a note-book and pencil.
 
"Oh ho," he murmured, "what a glorious day it will be. Nothing but poetry, a composition on nature, and—yes,—first of all, a little nap on this delightful⁷ ridge⁸."
 
The blue sky was flecked with whitish clouds, a slight breeze rustled⁹ the grass and leaves, while the river simmered in the early morning light.
 
It wasn't very long before the stout¹⁰ poet laureate, with his hat shielding his eyes, yielded to the pleasant feeling of sleepiness, dozing¹¹ away, in that soft and delicious slumber¹² which a care-free conscience and comfortable position are potent¹³ factors in bringing about.
 
An hour passed, then two, no doubt. The lad, in his world of bright-hued visions, dreamed of many things, but certainly not of that which was destined¹⁴ to happen before he saw his friends again.
 
The third hour had not yet ended, when two men appeared on the river bank making toward the motor boats with a stealth and precaution which showed conclusively¹⁵ that some object other than curiosity guided their actions.
 
The lean-to and sleeper¹⁶ close by did not escape their attention; in fact, the lad was no sooner perceived than they hastily withdrew into the friendly shelter of a line of bushes, from which point of observation they peered, as if undecided in their course of action.
 
But they did not attempt to come out in the open again, for Dave moved, stretched, then sat bolt upright.
 
"A fine nap," he murmured, half aloud; "a fine nap. It must be almost time for lunch."
 
He arose, gazed in the direction of the two boats, and began to saunter slowly toward them.
 
As he climbed on board the "Rambler," two pairs of eyes watched his movements with the keenest attention, their owners screening themselves carefully behind the bushes.
 
Dave got out the oil-stove, together with bacon, cheese, crackers¹⁷, and carried them all ashore¹⁸, but remained near the boats.
 
During his preparations for lunch, the two men, with the utmost caution, stole away.
 
After his repast, Dave cleaned up, replaced the articles he had used, and seated himself on the locker¹⁹, to begin his composition.
 
When six o'clock arrived, Dave began to wonder about his friends.
 
"What can be keeping them so late?" he mused²⁰. "I thought they would be back long before this."
 
Another hour passed, the anxious watcher listening in vain for any signs which indicated their approach. The golden tinged²¹ clouds changed to purple. Then sombre gray stole on, darkening by degrees until night enveloped²² the scene.
 
"They must be lost," thought Dave, disconsolately²³; "it will be hard finding their way back through the woods, even by moonlight."
 
He paced up and down uneasily. When the moon appeared in view, it was impossible for him to stand the suspense²⁴ any longer.
 
"I'll climb a tree and shout," he concluded. "Perhaps that may help them to find the camp. If not, I'll build a fire."
 
In spite of his stoutness²⁵ and indolent ways, the poet laureate could be active and agile²⁶ when the occasion demanded. Selecting a suitable tree near the edge of the woods, he shinnied up its trunk until the lowermost branch was reached. Then, amidst the thick foliage²⁷, he worked his way slowly aloft until a good position was secured.
 
Had Dave not been so worried, it is probable that the view alone would have repaid him for his labor²⁸. The long line of the river was broken at intervals²⁹ by trees; ridges³⁰, hills and dense³¹ woods, in light and shadow, extended off in all directions, blending imperceptibly with the sky.
 
"Not a sign of a camp-fire," muttered the lad. "Goodness, gracious, what in the world is that? Why how—"
 
This disjointed exclamation³² was caused by a sound, which, without warning, broke the silence.
 
Clear and distinct, the rapid pulsation³³ of a motor engine, working at full speed, came to his ears.
 
Dave Brandon had never been more astonished in his life. Peering through the branches, he looked eagerly in the direction of the river.
 
Almost immediately, between a break in the trees, the indistinct form of a boat could be seen gliding³⁴ rapidly by.
 
"The 'Rambler,'" gasped³⁵ Dave; "I'm sure it is the 'Rambler.' That sound could not be anything else. What does it mean?"
 
The lad forgot, for an instant, his belated friends, everything, in the excitement of the moment. With a haste that almost threatened disastrous³⁶ consequences, he began to descend³⁷. Branches smote³⁸ him in the face, leaves flapped in his eyes, but he paid no heed³⁹. His actions now would have been sufficient refutation of the charge of laziness.
 
In an astonishingly short time, he reached the ground, seized his gun and started on a run for the water.
 
"The 'Rambler' is gone," he cried, in his excitement speaking aloud.
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