It was true. The free, open-air, healthy life, the exercise and the freshness acted like a tonic. They ate like cormorants, and felt like trained pugilists.
Care cannot dwell long at the door of youth and health, and the wild and gloomy impressions of the previous night faded rapidly from their minds, especially as each was under a vow to his fellow not to mention the subject.
They took their tomahawk and bows and arrows and set out.
The island was nearly a quarter of a mile wide, and perhaps something more than half a mile long. Neither Dave nor Tom had ever been ashore there before, so they proceeded cautiously, arranging as they went along that in case they were surprised by any casual resident or visitor they should separate and make back to camp by different routes.
This scheme, Tom Pagdin announced, would be sure to put possible pursuers off the track.
“If anybody’s lookin’ for us,” he answered, “they’ll reckon on findin’ us both together, an’ if they come acrost only one set o’ tracks they’ll reckon it’s somebody else.”
Dave did not question the logic of this argument. He had confidence in his senior.
They might have gone about five hundred yards when both boys stopped.
Before them, plainly visible through the scrub, was a clearing, in the centre of which stood a deserted hut.
To make sure that there was nobody hiding there, Tom made a detour and crawled up through the long “bladey” grass till he got quite close.