The day was a gloomy one in spite of the fine weather that followed the storm. The campers were in no mood for doing anything and sat about listlessly, now and then taking an observation to see how their island was behaving. It seemed to be about in the middle of the big lake, though moving slowly southward.
“It’s bound to fetch up somewhere,” observed Ned.
“If it doesn’t strike some low place in the lake and become anchored,” replied Jerry. “But I don’t see that we can do anything. We might swim off when it gets near the mainland, but we’ll be in a bad way without our boat.”
There were uneasy sleepers in camp that night. Early in the morning Ned and Jerry were up to see if, by any chance, their boat had drifted near them.
“We’ll take another tramp along shore,” proposed Jerry.
Once more they started off. Jerry had gone about two miles when he heard three shots fired.
“That’s the signal!” he exclaimed. “Ned must have sighted the Dartaway!”
He hurried back, passing through the camp and telling the professor what he believed had happened. Nor was he mistaken. He found Ned pacing up and down the shore, stripped to his underwear and ready to plunge into the lake.
“Do you see it?” called Jerry.