“And it won’t be any easy job—with those grub-stakers after ’em,” murmured Harvey Brill.
“Keep still!” whispered Jim. “These boys are as game as they make ’em, but there’s no use crossing a bridge before the cows come home, or whatever that motto is.”
“All right,” agreed the prospector. “I’m wise. But say—this is a pretty spot all right.”
“We often camp on that island for a day or so,” spoke Ned, pointing to a large one in the middle of the river, which, at this point was about three miles wide, but not very deep.
“If we had any grub along we could camp now,” said Bob. “There’s a shack there; and——”
He got no farther, for at that instant, with a sort of apologetic cough, the motor stopped and the boat began to drift toward the island.
“What’s the matter?” asked Ned. “Run out of gasoline?”
“It can’t be that,” declared Jerry, with a puzzled look. “I filled the tank before we started.”
“Something’s wrong,” declared Bob.
“Evidently,” agreed Jerry, as he began to go over the motor, while Ned steered the drifting boat toward the island.