So they joked each other, but their hearts were heavy enough, for always in the back of their minds was the thought of their friend, who, in spite of the wild hope that Jerry had built up, might—must, Dave was sure—be lying at the bottom of treacherous Plum Run somewhere, drowned.
At last they seemed to be nearly halfway across, and they rested a brief spell, for every inch of their progress had to be fought for.
"All right," said Jerry, taking up his oar, "let's give her another tussle."
But Dave did not move, although he still hunched over his oar.
"Come on, Dave," urged his friend. "We don't want to lose any time. The sun ought to be up almost any minute now."
"Look behind you, old man. Right where we're headed, and tell me what you see."
Jerry turned in his seat. He took one quick glance toward Lost Island, now less than a hundred feet away, and then gave a low cry of dismay.
CHAPTER V
A STARTLING CLEW
There was a streak of light in the western sky, whether caused by the low-hanging, mist-hidden moon or a freak reflection of the coming dawn. Against that patch of brightness the northern headland of Lost Island loomed up high and barren save for its one tall tree. But it was neither headland nor tree that caught Jerry's attention and caused the gasp of dismay.