“What is it, Cal? What’s the matter? Why do you say there’s something wrong?” These questions were promptly hurled at Cal’s head by his companions.
“Look!” he answered. “Do you see the little flag up there on top of the bluff? It is flying union down—a signal of distress. But I can’t make out anybody there. Can any of you?”
All eyes were strained now, but no living thing could be seen anywhere along the shore. Tom ventured a suggestion:
“The flag is badly faded and a good deal whipped out, as if it had been flying there for a long time. Perhaps the people who put it up have all died since.”
“No, they haven’t,” answered Cal.
“Why, do you see anybody?”
“No. But I see a little curling smoke that probably rises from a half burned-out camp-fire.”
“It’s all right then?” half asked, half declared Tom.
“You forget the flag flying union down, Tom. That isn’t suggestive of all-rightness. Bring her around quick, Dick, and beach her there just under the bluff!”