Accordingly the boys secured automatics and the acetylene headlight. They hurriedly packed a bundle of food, borrowed one of the boats of the shipyard and started upstream to look for their chums. In a short time they discovered the skiff moored at the leaning oak. The big fish were duly admired by all.
"They've been gone quite a while," announced Tom. "See how hard and dry that fish is. They forgot to put it overboard."
"Evidently they didn't intend to stay long," suggested Jack.
"Look at Rowdy. You didn't know he was a bloodhound, did you?"
"Go it, boy," urged Jack. "Find Arnold. Find Harry."
The bulldog circled about the spot where the boys had eaten dinner, lost the scent, picked it up again, again dropped it and finally started away in dead earnest. Hastening along the boys had hard work to keep up with him. Through forest and glade, across swampy places and over ridges the dog led the lads ever at a swift pace. Once in a while he stopped to give vent to a fierce growl.
At length the boys becoming exhausted called a halt.
"Make Rowdy rest a while until I get my breath," protested Tom.
"He seems to know pretty near where he's going," Jack said.
"Yes," agreed Frank, "and I have an idea that he's trailing the boys. The point that worries me is whether we can find our way back to the tree where the boats are tied."