The trees on the shore loomed up
darkly against the sky, and presented the appearance of a solid wall
of ebony. Lester could not see anything that looked like a
shooting-box, but Bob knew it was there, and when he had listened
long enough to satisfy himself that there was nobody in it or about
it, he brought the bow of the boat around and paddled toward the
shore.
"Which way is it from here?" asked Lester, when the two had
disembarked. "I can't see anything."
"Hold fast to my coat-tail," replied Bob, "and I'll show it to you
in a minute."
Lester being thus taken in tow was safely conducted up the bank.
Presently he heard a door unlatched and opened, a match was struck
and he found himself inside the shooting-box. He could scarcely have
been more surprised if he had found himself inside a little palace.
The shooting-box was not a shanty, as he expected to find it, but a
conveniently-arranged and neatly-constructed house. He borrowed a few
matches of Bob and proceeded to take a thorough survey of it. "Don
must have spent a good deal of time in fixing this up," said he.
"He certainly has," replied Bob, "and he handles tools like a born
carpenter, too. I suppose this is a nice place to get away to when
the fellows are here shooting over their decoys.
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