It did not
take the shrewd engineer long to discover that the boys on the islands
had a signal code. One would stand on his boat landing and wave a strip
of white cotton into a lot of grotesque figures, and far off on another
island some other boy would reply with similar figures, and after much
"talking," the various boys would act with perfect understanding, either
meeting out on the lake, in the boats, or going swimming, or building
camp fires--it did not matter much what they decided upon, but after
these signals they all worked in unison.
And one night something happened of real import. It was just sunset one
beautiful August day, and Mr. Ellis, wearied with a long, hard run, lay
drinking in the wild beauty of the lonely lake, with its forest-covered
shores and its rocky islands. Over on the mainland the McKenzie's camp
gleamed white in the sunset. One could discern every movement in the
clear air, although the tents were a full mile, if not more, from where
the wearied engineer lay, grateful for the stillness, after hours of
the heated convulsions of the great steed he drove, day after day.
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