“And my stomach feels exactly as it used to,” Alex declared. “You catch the fish, and I’ll cook ’em, and we’ll tumble the boys out for breakfast. They’re sleeping too long, anyway.”
This program was followed to the letter, and before noon the Rambler lay up the west river about a mile from the bay creeping in behind Cartier island. At first no one left the boat, however.
“Do you remember what the chief of police said about Fontenelle’s boat and a lot of perfectly good provisions lying on the bottom of the river?” asked Clay as the boys lounged on deck.
“Indeed I do,” replied Case. “I’ve been thinking it would be a fine thing if we could find that boat.”
“I have found it!” Clay exclaimed.
“Yes, you have!” Case said, doubtfully.
“Sure, I have,” Clay went on. “When we swung in past Point aux Outarde, you were all watching the point to see what had become of the men who camped there last night, while I was searching the bay on the north side looking for some signs of the wreck of the Cartier.”
“And you found it, did you?” Case cried excitedly.
“Sure, I found it,” Clay declared. “It lays bottom down in about fifteen feet of water, with the top of the cabin showing plainly.”