Twilight was enfolding the eastern shore of the lake, and, gazing yearningly in that direction, Sleuth saw the gleam of a light, which he felt certain came from the campfire on Pleasant Point. Doubtless his companions were there, all unaware of his frightful predicament, and even if he were to shout they might not respond. Hearing wild cries coming faintly across the lake, was it not possible, nay probable, that they would consider it in the nature of another “manifestation” from the haunted island? And should he fire his gun, would that bring them? At once he remembered, with a sensation of reprehension over his own neglect, that he had failed to take a supply of loaded cartridges, the two in the gun being the only ones in his possession. Were he to discharge them, he would be left practically unarmed upon the island. “I can’t do that,” he whispered tremulously. “I can’t fire even one shot, for, if I should have to shoot at anything with the other barrel and I missed, I’d be in a dreadful fix. Oh, what’s become of that boat? What a fool I was to land here alone!” In a feverish, unreasoning way he began hurrying pantingly along the shore, looking for the boat. This was a silly thing to do, but in a time of great excitement or distraction he is a remarkably self-possessed person who does not lose his head and do something foolish. In order to follow the shore line of the island, Piper was compelled, at one spot where a low bluff rose directly from the water’s edge, to enter the border of the stunted pines which crowded close to the very brink of the bluff. He hesitated for a moment and drew back, shuddering; but almost immediately, holding the gun ready for use, he went forward, crouching low beneath the thick trees. A sigh of relief was on his lips, and he was about to step forth again upon the open beach when, with a sudden tremendous jerk of every nerve in his body, he stopped. Barely more than thirty feet away he beheld a canoe that was raising scarcely a ripple on the lake as it glided slowly and silently toward the island. And it was not at all remarkable that the sight of the occupants of that canoe should mightily startle the boy who crouched in the pines. In the prow of the canoe, apparently waiting to spring ashore, stood a huge, shaggy, gray dog. A man wielded the paddle—a man whose face was almost hidden by a long white beard, and whose garments, from the hat upon his head to the shoes he wore, were in color snowy white. In that moment it must have seemed to Piper that he surely beheld the ghosts of Old Lonely and his faithful dog. Gently the canoe touched the gravelly beach, the dog leaping out at once. The man followed and turned to grasp a thwart, with the evident intention of pulling the canoe up.