Janus drove some stakes that he had cut down.  Then, stringing a rope between them, the two proceeded to hang up the wet bedding, which consisted solely of soft, gray army blankets.  He took the wet clothing of the girls from the packs, hanging this on the line also, and a few moments later the blankets and the garments were steaming.  So was the coffee pot.  Bacon was the only other food put over for cooking.  The travelers were too hungry to care to wait long for their supper.

It was not long after Harriet and Jane had begun cooking the bacon before they sounded the supper call.  No one was late for supper that night, and each sat down tired and travel-stained, but there was not a word of complaint from either men or girls.  They made merry over the meal, made light of their misfortunes, and altogether enjoyed themselves fully as well as if their circumstances had been different.

“What I should like to know is how those things got in the river?” demanded Janus as the meal neared a close.

For a moment no one spoke.  The guide’s question was one which no member of the little party was prepared to answer.  So many unpleasant events had occurred in such rapid succession that it was difficult to place the cause of this latest disaster.

CHAPTER VII

HORSES GIVE THE ALARM

“Will you tell me where you placed the first packs when you came ashore with them?” asked Harriet, turning to the driver.

“Right against the rocks.”

“And behind that large boulder?”

“Yes.  How did you know?”

“Oh, I saw where you threw the first pack down.  It left the mark of the rope in the soft dirt,” explained the girl.  “I am not gifted with second sight, but I did see that.  What I started to say was that I know how the packs got in the river.”

“You know?” asked Miss Elting.

“Yes.  They were thrown in.”

For a few impressive seconds no one spoke.  Janus combed his whiskers with the fingers of one hand.  Jim, the driver, sprang to his feet, his face crimson with anger.

“I won’t stand for that.  Why should I throw the old stuff in the river?” he demanded indignantly.

“I beg your pardon.  I did not accuse you of it,” said Harriet.  “I know you did not.  It was some other person who threw the packs into the river.”

They gazed at her in amazement.

“Harriet, what do you mean?” cried the guardian.

“If she had lived up here two hundred years ago or so the people would have tied her to a stake and set fire to her,” declared Janus, punctuating his declaration with a series of quick, emphatic nods.

“The driver placed the pack behind the boulder and against the rocks,” said Harriet.  “Surely, he knew where he left the things.  What is more, I looked while he had gone in search of them, and, as I’ve already said, saw where he had left the pack.  The rest was easy to understand.  The packs could not possibly have got into the river unless they had been thrown there.”