They talked the matter over still further, and in the end made up a regular schedule so that each of the boys, as well as the old sailor, would take his turn at remaining on guard. Of course, the old tar could not do much in the way of moving around, but his eyes and his ears were as alert as any one’s, and that was all that was necessary.
The night, however, passed without incident, and morning found Jack and Randy much rested; and with daylight the alarm over the wild beasts subsided somewhat.
“I wish we had some sort of a boat,” said Jack, while eating breakfast. “Then we could skirt the island and visit the Coryanda, and also look for some sort of path leading to that circle of rocks.”
“Why can’t we build a sort of scow out of the wreckage?” questioned Fred. “We’ve got plenty of boards and ropes, and I think we could get quite a lot of nails out of the stuff if we set to work to do it.”
As nothing else suggested itself, the boys surveyed all the wreckage they had brought ashore and finally concluded they might utilize a portion of it in building a sort of sharp-pointed scow. Then they set to work, Ira Small hobbling down the sandy shore to watch them.
It was no easy task to build the scow, and it was not until noon of the next day that the craft was ready for use. They had nailed it as tight as possible, but this was not saying much, and they relied mostly on the solid flooring with which the scow was furnished to keep them afloat.
“Now we’ll have to make some sort of sweeps for it and then we’ll be ready to set sail,” declared Fred.
All had become so interested in making the scow seaworthy, that, for the time being, the camp had been forgotten.
“I suppose it’s about time somebody got grub ready,” murmured Andy, presently. “Scow or no scow, I want my dinner.”
“Well, you go on back and start things,” returned Jack. “Perhaps you’d better go with him, Fred. Randy and I can finish here. We’ll be along in a few minutes.”