“What’s this funny bundle in our boat?” demanded Will, suddenly.

“Ask no questions and I’ll give you no yarns. Just possess your souls in patience, and you’ll see after a while,” came Frank’s answer, as he went on loading systematically, taking heed of the fact that they would need to buck up against some rather heavy seas from the south while on the way, and that everything must be protected from the wet by covers.

“I bet it’s a new patent stove he’s got along,” suggested Will.

“Oh! that’s in my boat already. It burns kerosene, and makes a blue gas. Frank says it’s the boss in rainy weather, with those aluminum camp kettles for cooking. I reckon it must be a box of cake and pies the girls have supplied,” ventured Bluff.

“You’re away off, for they’re going to bring those things when they come. Besides, this isn’t in the shape of a box at all,” laughed Frank.

“That’s a fact, and it looks more like a spare blanket or two,” came from Jerry.

“Well, give it up, boys. I don’t believe you’d guess in a month of Sundays. Now, are you all ready?” queried the leader of the club, as he took up his paddle and prepared to look after the port side while Will worked the starboard.

Frank, being the more experienced of the twain, had the stern seat, as that is usually considered the post of greater responsibility in clearing rocks while running rapids, and generally guiding the craft.

“Say when!” called Jerry.

“The Red Rover is ready to meet the storm!” announced Bluff, whose little craft had a narrow band of red around its gunwale.

“Go!”

The four paddles dipped deeply into the water, and simultaneously the little canoes started into the teeth of the wind. There were a few shouts from the shore, and considerable waving of snowy ’kerchiefs from a group of girls standing before Frank’s house, which latter brought a series of salutes from the paddlers until the commodore of the flotilla sternly warned them that unless they paid more attention to what they were doing an upset would mark the beginning of their Spring outing.

After that they kept their eyes straight ahead. And, indeed, there was really need for all attention, since the waves were running quite high for such small vessels to meet. Still, a canoe, if properly handled, can live in a sea that will sink a much larger boat; since the tiny cedar craft mounts to the crests of the waves with the buoyancy of a cork.

They paddled strenuously for an hour toward the south, and by that time were beginning to feel their muscles growing somewhat sore. The season was young, and they had not as yet become wholly accustomed to hard manual labor, though all of them used the school gymnasium through the winter months in the endeavor to keep in condition.

“Talk about your combers, these are the real thing,” grunted Jerry, as he shot up on the crest of a wave, from which exalted position he had a fleeting view of the island dead ahead; and was then swept down into what seemed to be a valley.

The fact that each boat was so heavily laden added to the danger of their swamping if once they turned sideways to the seas, or broached to; but the boys were conscious of this ever-impending peril, and fought tooth and nail to prevent it.

Wildcat Island was quite a large piece of ground, standing in the lake at some little distance from either shore, but much nearer the western one, that upon which the town of Newtonport was situated, with its distant range of hills, called the Sunset Mountains by the natives.

This island lay not far from the foot of the lake, while another, going by the name of Snake Island, was situated close to the lumber camp at the head of the body of water, which was some ten miles long by between one and two wide.

With a strong south wind blowing, a heavy sea could be kicked up, though naturally this would be found much worse the farther up the lake one went.

“Ten minutes more will see us there, boys!” shouted Frank.

He feared that one of the other paddlers might be getting pretty near his last effort, and wished to encourage the balance of his chums to renewed efforts.

“We’re all right; don’t worry about us,” called back Bluff, who happened to be a little bit ahead.

He had hardly spoken than he came close to the verge of disaster. To make his voice carry the better, Bluff had half turned his head, and in doing this lost his advantage just a trifle. So it came that the next sea struck the Red Rover on the forward port side, instead of head on. This caused the frail canoe to sheer out of her course, amid frantic efforts of her wearied skipper to regain a straightaway heading; and only for the fact that a second sea did not follow closely on the heels of the first, he might have met with an upset.

Presently they ran into the lee of the island, where the water was smoother.

This revived the flagging energies of Bluff and Jerry, always rivaling each other in whatever they attempted; so they set up a little race for the shore.

“Who won, Frank?” demanded Bluff between gasps, as all of them landed.

“Well,” remarked the other, with a sly wink at Will, which at the time the latter did not fully understand, though its import was made plain later, “I’d declare it a dead heat! You two fellows are so evenly matched it’s hard to decide which is the better.”

“All but our lung capacity; there I’ve got him beaten every time,” insisted Bluff.

“You have, eh? Wait until the opportunity comes, and you’ll just see how easy I put you on the mat. Ashore it is, my hearties! We’re castaway sailors for a week!” exclaimed Jerry, suiting the action to the word, and dragging his canoe up on the little shelving beach, beyond which lay the bristling thickets, hiding all the mysteries of Wildcat Island.

“Monarch of all we survey. Here we hide from the world, and forget dull care,” sang Will, prancing about to ease up his strained muscles.

“Here, lend a helping hand, you shirk!” called Frank, who was dragging the big canoe ashore alone.

Suddenly there was a shriek from Will that made the others spring up. Frank’s hand involuntarily reached out for the double-barreled shotgun that lay in its waterproof case on top of the stuff in his canoe.

“Look! look! the wild man!” shouted Jerry.

They all saw a hideous face framed among the branches and twigs of the thicket close by. One second only was it in view, hardly long enough for them to make out that it was human rather than that of an immense ape. Then the ugly face vanished from their sight, leaving the four canoeists gaping at each other as though unable to positively decide whether they had really seen the mysterious wild man of the island, or something which their imaginations had conjured up instead.