"Three o'clock," he said. "It will be light soon. We've struck land, and I don't know anything else to do but go ashore."
"Land!" gasped Margy. "Where are we?"
Larry was already out of the boat, steadying it with one hand.
"If you'll be getting out now," he said politely, "so's I can haul this disreputable wreck a bit higher, I think perhaps I can tend to it, come daylight. My weather forecast for the morning is foggy—foggy and wet."
Dazed, the boys and girls tumbled out on the sand and all helped to push and drag the boat well up on the beach—if it was a beach upon which they walked. It felt like sand, but the nose of the boat rested in coarse stubble, as revealed by the flashlight.
"I don't see where it is," Margy marveled. "Larry, this isn't Blackberry Island, is it?"
"It doesn't look like it to me, but I've lost my bearings," said Larry, giving the boat a final haul. "No, this isn't Blackberry Island. If you ask me, I think we're on another island—Rattlesnake Island, they call it."
Jess screamed and ran for the boat. She reached it and scrambled over the side, falling head first across the seat.
"Polly! Margy!" she cried loudly. "Hurry! Don't stay there another minute! For all you know there are rattlesnakes all around you there in the dark!"