The boys camped that night within less than five miles of the lake, and of course had the pleasure of listening to more of the guide’s stories. They made an early start the next morning, Mr. Swan being impatient to obtain assistance and resume the pursuit of the man who had despoiled the camp of his employer, and at seven o’clock the two boats were run up on the beach in front of the Sportsman’s Home.
MR. SWAN and his young friends at once went ashore and set out for the hotel, the former to tell “the boys” that he had struck the trail of the man they most wanted to see, and Joe and his companions to examine the rods the landlord had in his possession, and to engage some one who was handy with tools to repair the skiff. They left me lying in my usual place on the stern locker, with Jim and the two bait-rods for company.
I had heard so much about Indian Lake and its hotels that I had pictured them out to myself, and thought I could tell pretty near how they looked; but nevertheless I was greatly surprised by what I saw around me. I told myself that the boy who could not find there what he wanted in the way of recreation, must be hard to suit. If he was fond of gay company and liked such places as Saratoga and Long Branch, he would probably stop at the “American” on the further side of the lake; but if he were an angler and a lover of nature, or if he desired to get away somewhere and rest, he would choose the “Sportsman’s Home” every time.
The house itself looked like a hunter’s camp on a grand scale, or like the cabins of the loggers I afterward saw in the wilds of Maine, only it had two stories instead of one. It was built entirely of logs, which had been painted with some substance that I don’t know the name of, but it sparkled in the bright sunlight like a covering of ice. In the groves that surrounded the hotel on all sides, were log houses, tents and shanties without number. Noisy children were running in and out among the trees, the clashing of croquet balls was almost incessant, sportsmen in dogskin jackets, leather helmets and leggings, and guides in blue shirts and cowhide boots were constantly going and coming, and every one that I saw seemed to be enjoying himself. This was one of the happy parties that Matt Coyle was determined to break up because the landlords refused to trust their guests to his care! It was no wonder Mr. Swan and his brother guides were anxious to rid the country of the presence of such a villain. While I was thinking about it I heard myself addressed in a faint voice; and upon looking in the direction from which it came, I discovered a seedy breech-loader resting against the thwart of the neighboring canoe.