All walked up and down the river bank, looking in vain for some trace of the shipowner’s son. Once they met some people from another camp and asked about Phil. But these folks shook their heads.
“Didn’t see a soul,” said one of the men.
Jerry Blutt had been looking the situation over carefully, and he said he thought they could get to the island by going up the river a distance.
“Then the current will help us along, and we won’t have to fight so hard,” said the camp-worker. 246 He did not like the idea of crossing the water, but did not wish to desert the boys.
On the trip they carried the rope, with Jerry at the head and Dave at the rear. All took tight hold, so that if one slipped the others might pull him up.
“Now, take it easy,” cautioned the camp man. “This water is runnin’ putty swift, even yet.”
He had mapped out a course with his eye, and proceeded slowly and cautiously. Once away from the shore, they felt the full force of the onrushing waters and were all but swept from their feet. It was well that they were a good distance above Moosetail Island, for to reach this spot by going straight out in the stream would have been impossible.
It was a long, hard, and dangerous trip, and all drew a deep breath of relief when they finally set foot on the island. At times they had been in water up to their waists and it had looked as if they must surely be swept away. Once a tree branch, coming swiftly along, had caught Dave and literally carried him off his feet for several yards.
They landed at one end of the island, at a point where the bushes were still two feet under water. The evidences of the flood were on every hand, and the water was muddy and filled with broken-away brushwood and trees. 247
“I guess we had better strike out for the camp,” said Dave. “Phil would go there if he went anywhere.”