Ten minutes later Wally sat in his canoe, paddling vigorously up the river. Dusk had faded into darkness, but the stars gave appreciable light, and the river was familiar to him. He knew every turn and shallow in the stream, every clump of bushes on the banks, every group of trees, every leaning stump. He passed the wide mouth of Little River, lying silent at the foot of the new Playing Field, and entered the straight stretch beside the Park, where the tall, overhanging trees on either side and the sluggish, murky water beneath formed a gloomy tunnel through which the wind blew, chill and dispiriting. But Wally was not one to be frightened by the bugaboo of darkness; the mysterious depths had no terrors for him. His work kept him warm, despite the wind, while the strip of stars above his head cheered with their friendly presence. He could see, too, on the water, not clearly but well enough to make his course; and his thoughts, set eagerly on his destination, were unaffected by the perils of the way. So the little craft pushed its nose steadily upward against wind and current, while the gurgle of water from the paddle was hardly audible above the sighing of the wind through the naked branches. And now he was abreast of the entrance to the cove, a broad inlet stretching deep into the woods, and crossed midway by a causeway and bridge. Over the bridge led the forest road along which the kidnappers had taken their victim. It came out close to the river again beyond the next point, and Wally, fearful that hostile eyes might peer at him from the darkness, put into practice the trick of silent paddling he had learned the summer before,--dipping the blade vertically into the water and lifting it cautiously at the end of the stroke. Another bend would bring him in sight of his goal! The sound of voices and of laughter reached his ears and set his heart beating hard. Some one was thrashing about in the undergrowth, sticks were being broken; as he advanced the glint of fire flashed occasionally past the tree trunks. They were there! As he rounded the last point, the scene was partially revealed. He worked his way still farther along the bank to a tree which sagged over the river, affording a protecting shadow. From here he had a satisfactory view. They had built a fire near the bank. Some one--it looked like Barclay--was piling fuel on. Around were standing or moving a dozen fellows, while against a big oak in the background, standing as if his hands were tied behind him, was Poole. The flames, flaring up through a fresh armful of brush, threw a bright light on the faces of those beyond, behind whose moving figures Poole's form was alternately eclipsed and revealed. The whole scene reminded Wally of an incident in one of his favorite Indian tales, in which young braves dance around their camp-fire and jeer at their captive bound to a tree.