ember about that
line a minute too soon. The credit of your rescue belongs to him."

"No it doesn't," said Nugget bashfully. "You did the work."

Clay looked from one to the other, and then held out his hand to Nugget.

"It was your outline and your suggestion," he said in a low voice. "You
saved my life. Will you forgive me, old fellow? I put that snake in your
canoe this morning, and am awfully sorry I did it."

Nugget hesitated an instant. Then he blushingly accepted the proffered
hand and said:

"We'll let the matter drop, Clay. I know you won't do anything like that
again."

"No, I won't," replied Clay earnestly. "I'm done with practical jokes.
It was only a garter snake, though I caught it with a forked stick."

Ned and Randy had been at first inclined to pitch into Clay, but seeing
that he was sincerely repentant they wisely concluded to ignore his
fault, hoping that the lesson would really prove beneficial, and cure
him of the fondness for playing tricks.

After a light lunch the Jolly Rovers started off again. They were
anxious to get as far as possible from the whirlpool. During the early
part of the afternoon they paddled and drifted by turns, for Clay was
still a little weak from his experience.

Between three and four o'clock a bend of the creek brought into view an
old wooden bridge. The piers were mossy and crumbling to ruins, and the
roof and sides had been guiltless of paint for many a long year.

Just below the bridge the Creek widened to a kind of pool. At the foot
of a ledge of rocks on the left shore sat three men holding long fishing
poles. Their attention seemed to be given to a fourth man, who was
sitting in a boat near by, talking earnestly, and pointing from time to
time out on the creek.

A spring was visible a little above the fishermen, and as the boys
happened to be thirsty they paddled over to it.

The canoes immediately became objects of interest, and a friendly
conversation was started.

The man in the boat stepped out, and picked up Randy's gun.

"That's a purty nice weapon," he observed in a mournful voice. "It ain't
unlike the one I lost, only mine was longer, and a leetle bit lighter.
It was a muzzle loader, though, and this is one of them new fangled
kind."

"How did you lose yours?" inquired Randy.

"It sunk out there," replied the man, pointing toward mid-channel. "I
was driftin' along when I seen a muskrat in the reeds on t'other shore.
I stood up to reach the