As he approached the river, going down a small hill, the way became stony, and he had to walk with care, for fear of going into some hole, or twisting an ankle. It was hard work, especially with the suit-case, and he half wished he had hidden the baggage somewhere near the depot.
“I was a big chump that I didn’t bring some lunch along,” he reasoned. And then he had to smile at himself, as he remembered how he had imagined that he might put up at some hotel in Camptown Falls! He had not dreamed that the place would prove such a lonely one. It was certainly an ideal spot for runaways who wished to remain undiscovered.
Presently Dave found himself at the bank of the river, a wide but shallow stream, filled with sandbars, rocks, and piles of driftwood. Not a great distance off was the end of Moosetail Island.
It was now so dark that our hero could see but 224 little. As he stood at the edge of the river, he heard a patter on the leaves of the trees and knew it had begun to rain.
“Wonder how they get to the island?” he mused. “They must either use canoes, or else wade across, or ford along the stones.”
He moved along the river-bank, and soon came to a point where the stones in the river seemed to stretch in a line from the bank to the island.
“I guess I’ll try it here,” he told himself. “But I think I had better leave the suit-case behind.”
He placed the case in a tree, sheltering it as much as possible from the rain, which was now coming down at a lively rate. Then, donning his raincoat and waterproof cap, he set out over the rocks in the river, leaping from one to the next and heading for the island.
It was no easy journey, and when but half-way to Moosetail Island Dave slipped and went into the stream up to his knees. He floundered around for a moment, splashing the water into his face and over his coat and cap.
“Phew! this is lots of fun!” was his grim comment, as he at length found himself on a flat rock, catching his breath. “Well, I am half-way over, anyway.”