Although the night was dark, and there were but few guide-lights on the
river in those days, he found no difficulty in keeping the channel
until the skiff passed through the chute at the head of Winn's island.
At this point the false channel seemed, in the darkness, to be as wide
and desirable as the true one, and for a minute he was puzzled as to
which he should take. "Not that I suppose it would make any great
difference," he remarked to Bim. "It's about time to tie up, though,
and we want to be sure to do that on the main channel, so as not to
miss a chance of seeing the raft at daylight."
For answer Bim left his seat, ran to the bow of the boat, uttered a
short bark, and fixed his gaze pointedly down-stream.
"A light, as sure as you are a dog of wisdom!" cried Billy Brackett,
looking in the direction thus indicated. "I vow, Bim, your name ought
to be 'Solomon Minerva,' and I must have a 'howl' engraved on your
collar the first chance I get. That is, if you ever arrive at the
dignity of owning any collar besides that old strap. Your light looks
as though it might proceed from a camp-fire, and I reckon it's on the
main channel too. At any rate, we'll pull down there and make
inquiries."
A few minutes later the skiff was run ashore near the beacon blaze that
Winn Caspar had left on the eastern side of the island, and its
occupants were searching the vicinity for those whom Billy Brackett had
so confidently expected to find near it.
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