They did manage to reach the shore of the little bay. Here the water was comparatively quiet, and here they came upon some of the wreckage that had torn itself loose from the improvised raft.
“We can make a little raft of that stuff and sail around the bay on it,” said Jack. “But I don’t see what good it will do.”
Too tired at last to do anything else, the boys returned to their temporary camp and there proceeded to fix an evening meal and prepare themselves for a second night on the island. They had secured a good-sized tarpaulin from the wreckage, and, cutting some poles with a hatchet, they soon had a tent erected. Then all the boys set to work to cut down some small branches, with which they fixed up beds for themselves and for the old sailor.
Fortunately, they had recovered all the firearms left on the improvised raft, and none that had been carried in their pockets had been lost, so that now all were armed as before.
“But we must remember that our supply of ammunition is limited,” said Jack. “So don’t shoot at anything unless you have to.”
“I don’t see what there is to shoot at,” answered Randy, who was frying one of the fish brought back from the pool.
“Well, something may turn up when you least expect it,” answered the young major.
Their clothing was now dry, yet they presented anything but an enviable appearance. Their linen was much soiled and torn and their suits were also torn and very much mussed up.
“We wouldn’t do to go to a party, would we, Jack?” remarked Fred, when they were preparing to retire. “I wonder what Ruth Stevenson would say if she saw you now.”
“Probably she’d be glad to see me and all the rest of you, Fred,” was the prompt answer. “I know I’d be mighty glad to see her and all of the others. Wouldn’t you?”