“Oh, how can we get him?” cried Freddie, nearly running into the water in his excitement.
“I don’t know,” Hal admitted. “He’s pretty far out.”
Just then a life-saver came along. Freddie always insisted the life-guards were not white people, because they were so awfully browned from the sun, and really, this one looked like some foreigner, for he was almost black.
“What’s the trouble?” he asked, seeing Freddie’s distress.
“Oh, Downy is gone!” cried the little fellow in tears now.
“Gone!” exclaimed the guard, thinking Downy was some boy who had swam out too far.
“Yes, see him out there,” sobbed Freddie, and before the other boys had a chance to tell the guard that Downy was only a duck, the life-saver was in his boat, and pulling out toward the spot where Freddie said Downy was “downing”!
“There’s someone drowning!” went up the cry all around. Then numbers of men and boys, who had been bathing, plunged into the waves, and followed the life-saver out to the deeper water.
It was useless for Harry, Hal, or Bert to try to explain to anyone about the duck, for the action of the life-saver told a different story. Another guard had come down to the beach now, and was getting his ropes ready, besides opening up the emergency case, that was locked in the boat on the shore.
“Wait till they find out,” whispered Hal to Bert, watching the guard in the boat nearing the white speck on the waves. It was a long ways out, but the boys could see the guard stop rowing.
“He’s got him,” shouted the crowd, also seeing the guard pick something out of the water. “I guess he had to lay him in the bottom of the boat.”
“Maybe he’s dead!” the people said, still believing the life-saver had been after some unfortunate swimmer.
“Oh, he’s got him! He’s got him!” cried Freddie, joyfully, still keeping up the mistake for the sightseers.
As the guard in the boat had his back to shore, and pulled in that way, even his companion on land had not yet discovered his mistake, and he waited to help revive whoever lay in the bottom of the boat.
The crowd pressed around so closely now that Freddie’s toes were painfully trampled upon.
“He’s mine,” cried the little fellow. “Let me have him.”
“It’s his brother,” whispered a sympathetic boy, almost in tears. “Let him get over by the boat,” and so the crowd made room for Freddie, as the life-saver pulled up on the beach.
The people held their breath.
“He’s dead!” insisted a number, when there was no move in the bottom of the boat. Then the guard stooped down and brought up—Downy!
“Only a duck!” screamed all the boys in the crowd, while the other life-saver laughed heartily over his preparations to restore a duck to consciousness.
“He’s mine! He’s mine!” insisted Freddie, as the life-saver fondled the pretty white duck, and the crowd cheered.
“Yes, he does belong to my little brother,” Bert said, “and he didn’t mean to fool you at all. It was just a mistake,” the older brother apologized.
“Oh, I know that,” laughed the guard. “But when we think there is any danger we don’t wait for particulars. He’s a very pretty duck all the same, and a fine swimmer, and I’m glad I got him for the little fellow, for likely he would have kept on straight out to smooth water. Then he would never have tried to get back.”
The guard now handed Downy over to his young owner, and without further remarks than “Thank you,” Freddie started off through the crowd, while everybody wanted to see the wonderful duck. The joke caused no end of fun, and it took Harry, Hal, and Bert to save Freddie and Downy from being too roughly treated, by the boys who were over-curious to see both the wonderful duck and the happy owner.
CHAPTER XII
Real Indians
“Now we will have to watch Downy or he will be sure to take that trip again,” said Bert, as they reached home with the enterprising duck.
“We could build a kind of dam across the narrowest part of the lake,” suggested Hal; “kind of a close fence he would not go through. See, over there it is only a little stream, about five feet wide. We can easily fence that up. I’ve got lots of material up in our garden house.”
“That would be a good idea,” agreed Bert. “We can put Downy in the barn until we get it built. We won’t take any more chances.” So Downy was shut up in his box, back of the donkey stall, for the rest of the day.
“How far back do these woods run?” Harry asked his companions, he always being interested in acres, as all real country boys are.
“I don’t know,” Hal Bingham answered. “I never felt like going to the end to find out. But they say the Indians had reservations out here not many years ago.”
“Then I’ll bet there are lots of arrow heads and stone hatchets around. Let’s go look. Have we time before dinner, Bert?” Harry asked.
“I guess so,” replied the cousin. “Uncle William’s train does not get in until seven, and we can be back by that time. We’ll have to slip away from Freddie, though. Here he comes. Hide!” and at this the boys got behind things near the donkey house, and Freddie, after calling and looking around, went back to the house without finding the “boy boys.”
“We can cross the lake in my boat,” said Hal, as they left their hiding-places. “Then, we will be right in the woods. I’ll tie the boat on the other side until we come back; no one will touch it.”
“Is there no bridge?” Harry asked.
“Not nearer than the crossings, away down near the ocean beach,” said Bert. “But the boat will be all right. There are no thieves around here.”
It was but a few minutes’ work to paddle across the lake and tie up the canoe on the opposite shore. Hal and Bert started off, feeling they would find something interesting, under Harry’s leadership.
It was quite late in the afternoon, and the thick pines and ferns made the day almost like night, as the boys tramped along.
“Fine big birds around here,” remarked Harry, as the feathered creatures of the ocean darted through the trees, making their way to the lake’s edge.
“Yes, we’re planning for a Thanksgiving shoot,” Hal told him. “We hope, if we make it up, you can come down.”
“I’d like to first-rate,” said Harry. “Hello!” he suddenly exclaimed, “I thought I kicked over a stone hatchet head.”
Instantly the three boys were on their knees searching through the brown pine needles.
“There it is!” declared Harry, picking up a odd-shaped stone. “That’s real Indian—I know. Father has some, but this is the first I was ever lucky
