The western shore had entirely vanished, while nothing remained in evidence of those department boats except the dense black smoke smudge still outlined against the lighter arch of sky overhead.

To my left the camp fires of the soldiers still remaining at Yellow Banks began to show red with flame through the shadows of intervening trees, and I could hear the noise of hammering, together with an occasional strident voice.
Immediately about me all was silent, the steadily deepening gloom rendering my surroundings vaguely indistinct.
Thus far I possessed no plan--except to seek her.

How this was to be accomplished appeared in no way clear.

I lay there, my mind busy with the perplexing problem.

Where could Kirby go, now that he was ashore?
How could he hope to find concealment in the midst of that rough camp?
that little, squalid frontier settlement of a few log huts?
Could it be possible that he had friends there--old cronies to whom he might venture to appeal for shelter, and protection?
men of his own kidney to whom he could confide his secret?
As the thought occurred to me it seemed quite possible; indeed it scarcely appeared probable that he would, under any other circumstances, have made the choice he did.
Surely such a man could never have risked going ashore unless some definite plan of action had already formulated itself in his mind.