As they advanced one or another gave a loud call. But no answer came back, and this made them look gravely at each other. Was the perilous trip to the island to prove a vain one?
In a quarter of an hour they came in sight of the camp. The cove had been blotted out, and the water was eddying around the cabin to a depth of several inches. Mud was everywhere, inside the place and out, and this showed that the flood had swept the spot at a height of several feet.
“We might have stayed here,” was Buster’s comment. “It didn’t hurt the big tree.”
“But we didn’t know how bad it was going to be,” answered Ben. “It might have washed away the whole island.”
“Let us go up to the high ground and look for Phil,” suggested Dave. “Maybe he went to the highest spot he could find.”
The others agreed, and leaving the camp-worker at the cabin, the boys, led by Buster, tramped through the wet and mud to a little hill. Again they set up their calls, but, as before, no answer came back.
“I don’t believe he came here,” said Ben, at last. “If he was here he would surely hear us.” 248
“Unless he was hurt and couldn’t answer,” returned Dave.
From the top of the little hill they could see both ends of Moosetail Island and also both shores of the river. As they gazed about them, Dave suddenly gave a shout.
“Look! look!” he cried, pointing to the shore which they had left but a short while before. “There is somebody waving a handkerchief at us!”