“You’re ‘mighty right,’ Larry,” said Dick. “I’ve quenched my thirst with sour wild grapes till my teeth have an edge like those of a buck-saw, and I begin to crave some unseasoned water.”
“I imagine we’re all in the same condition,” said Cal, as they hurried back to the ruins of the camp, “and it is altogether well that we are so.”
“How’s that, Cal?”
“Why, stimulated by thirst and encouraged by a sure prospect of reward, we’ll stop fooling away our time and do a little real work.”
Two hours later there was an abundant water supply in the well, and it had so far “settled” that the boys drank it freely with their late supper.
When the meal was over they all strolled down to the shore again and listened for the sound of oars in the direction from which Dunbar was expected. Nobody had suggested this. No word of uneasiness had been uttered, but every member of the company was in fact uneasy about the missing member of the group. After their return to camp this feeling was recognized as something in the minds of all. Presently Tom offered a suggestion:
“What do you think, Larry? Won’t it be just as well to show a light down that way, in case he should have trouble in finding the landing during the night?”
“That’s a good idea, Tom, but we’re so nearly out of oil now—indeed, we haven’t any except what is in the lanterns—that it must be a torch—”
“Or a camp-fire,” suggested Cal. “There are no sand flies to-night, and there’s nothing to keep us here. Why not move down to the bluffs and build a camp-fire there? Then we can sleep by it and keep it going all night.”
This plan was carried out, but it resulted in nothing. When the boys returned to their work of rebuilding the shelter the next morning, Dunbar had not yet made his appearance, nor was anything to be seen of the dory in such of the waterways as were open to view between the mud marshes that dotted the great bay or inlet in every direction.