"Can't tell. She's probably stuck on a sandbar or a snag, anywhere from five to twenty-five miles down. Don't go along, Dave, unless you want to."
"Better come home with me," urged Frank.
"Do you need me along, Jerry?" queried Dave uncertainly.
"No—" shortly—"no I don't. Mr. Fulton does—Tod does."
Jerry rose stiffly to his feet and started slowly off in the faint moonlight, without so much as a look behind.
"So long, Jerry," called Frank. "Come on, Dave."
But Dave slowly shook his head and reluctantly followed the footsteps of his chum.
"Hold on a minute, old man; I'll stick with you."