Within was a large glass case filled with forest trophies. And there in a corner (he had seen it before) stood the Hiawatha Prize canoe. He just wanted to make sure that it was there. Down he jumped and off he ran toward the float where the boats were knocking and clanking their chains. The water was rough and looked cold. He pulled off his faded shirt and shabby trousers and walked out to the end of the springboard. Even his light weight caused its metal parts to squeak; it always squeaked in the morning owing to the dampness of the night and the few hours of disuse. For just a moment he paused, then plunged into the lake. CHAPTER X WON Over near the opposite shore of the lake there was a man fishing from a boat that morning. He sat motionless in the early solitude, a lonely figure against the somber background of wooded shore. Across the lake was a ribbon of light, like a silvery stream flowing in the dark water. It seemed to scatter into bits of tinsel where it touched the base of the densely covered heights. The lone fisherman was not in its path. Suddenly he raised his rod, swinging the long line far off from the opposite side of his boat, and just then something caught his eye. About fifty yards distant an object was moving across the shimmering band. At first he thought it was a freakish manifestation of this glimmering sheen. Then he saw that it was a foreign object, progressing slowly, steadily. It reached the clearly defined border of this shining area; then he lost it for a few moments. Now it appeared again coming straight toward him; by-times he caught a glimpse of a face; an arm appeared and disappeared regularly. On, on the swimmer came with slow, unswerving progress. The fisherman heard a distant bell; like an answering peal it echoed from the solemn heights near by. Distant voices could be heard, thin and spent. The man could not hear what they said as they seemed to dissolve in the air. But the bell continued ringing. He felt rather than heard distant excitement. The ringing and the voices were mellowed by the intervening space, yet he sensed that something was wrong over at the big camp. The swimmer was now in plain view of the fisherman--close at hand. He did not seem to be in trouble, but a swim across Black Lake was by no means an easy feat, and the man hauled in his line and sculled over to intercept him. "Don't touch me--keep away!" Skinny fairly yelled. "Don't you want to come aboard?" "No, you keep away from me!"