The camp-fire had gone out and an animal might have come down to drink.

He grumbled at his awkwardness and going back to camp, went to sleep again.
In the morning he returned to the bank, but found no tracks.

He could account for the stone falling in two or three natural ways, but the splash of the paddle was a different thing.

Still he had not actually heard the noise, but, so to speak, wakened with its echo in his ears, and sitting down, he pondered the matter.

Supposing that somebody from Stormont's gang had prowled about the camp, it was difficult to see the fellow's object.