Boy Scouts of the Air on Lost Island | Page 7

for every hundred yards!" It
was Frank who took up Jerry's thought. "Besides, it would be different
if we hadn't waited so long. Tod--Tod's--he's dead now," voicing at last
the feeling they had never before put into words.
There was a gruffness in Jerry's voice as he answered, a gruffness that
tried hard to mask the trembling of his tones. "I know it, but-- but--I
want to do something for Mr. Fulton. Won't you fellows go along with
me? I guess I--I'll go."
"Down river?" asked both boys, but without eagerness.
"Till we find the boat."
"It's no use," said Frank. "Our folks'll cane us now when we get home.
Going along, Dave--with me?"
"How far do you s'pose the boat's drifted by now, Jerry?" asked Dave

instead of answering Frank.
"Can't tell. She's probably stuck on a sandbar or a snag, anywhere from
five to twenty-five miles down. Don't go along, Dave, unless you want
to."
"Better come home with me," urged Frank.
"Do you need me along, Jerry?" queried Dave uncertainly.
"No--" shortly--"no I don't. Mr. Fulton does--Tod does."
Jerry rose stiffly to his feet and started slowly off in the faint moonlight,
without so much as a look behind.
"So long, Jerry," called Frank. "Come on, Dave."
But Dave slowly shook his head and reluctantly followed the footsteps
of his chum.
"Hold on a minute, old man; I'll stick with you."

CHAPTER III
LOST ISLAND
It was only a thin edge of a moon that now stood barely above the low
line of tree-covered hills beyond the east bank of the river. The light it
gave was a misty, watery sort of ray that was a doubtful help in
walking over the broken shore line. The two boys were too occupied in
watching their footing to do much talking. Jerry led the way, bearing to
the water's edge, finally stopping where a light rowboat had been pulled
well up on the rocky beach.
"We'll have to divide forces, I guess. In this uncertain light we never
could be sure of seeing the boat if she was on the other side. I'll cut
across while you go down this bank."

"Why not take the boat and go down the middle?"
"Too hard work getting through the shallows, and, besides, this way
we're closest to the place where the boat would most likely have been
snagged. We can go lots faster on foot. We'll keep about opposite each
other; we can yell across once in a while and it won't be quite so
lonesome. You go ahead till you get below the riffles, and wait there
till I catch up with you."
Jerry stepped into the boat and took up the oars. Dave gave the boat a
mighty shove that almost put the stern under the water.
"Hey! What you kids doing?" bellowed a gruff voice that the boys
hardly recognized as being that of Mr. Aikens.
"Just duck and say nothing," called Jerry guardedly to Dave. "He might
try to stop us."
So Dave scurried into the shadows of near-by trees, while Jerry bent
low over his oars and noiselessly shot the boat out into safe waters. It
was the work of only a few minutes to push the nose of his boat high
and dry on the sand of the opposite shore. He was in the heavy shadow
of a big cottonwood and felt safe from peering eyes, so without wasting
time to mask his movements he jumped out and scurried along the bank.
A level stretch of a hundred yards carried him around a bend; he
stopped for a brief rest and a glance toward the other side, where a
great crashing of bushes told him that Dave was safely out of sight and
well on his way toward the riffles.
A chuckle almost escaped Jerry as he listened to the thrashing about,
but remembrance of their errand killed the laughter. In fact, the chuckle
turned to a genuine sob, for Tod Fulton was his closest chum. So,
without an instant's pause, he made his way to the foot of the riffles,
where their search would really begin. How soon it would end, there
was no telling; it might be one mile; it might be twenty. But Jerry
grimly determined that he would carry the undertaking through to the
end.

The riffles was really a succession of pools of treacherous depths,
joined by foaming, rock-broken rapids. The bank was lined with great
boulders through which a day-time path wound a difficult way. Jerry
wasted no time in trying to follow it, but skirted far around through a
waist-high cornfield. A barb-wire fence held him prisoner long enough
to allow Dave to break cover first on the opposite shore and send a
vigorous but quavery "hello" across the water.