"There is a good spring near here," announced Pedro.
"Then we'll build a fire and camp out!" declared Paul. "Being marooned isn't so bad, after all; eh Dick?"
"Maybe not," agreed the young millionaire, as he helped the others gather fuel for the fire.
Soon a cheerful blaze was roaring on the beach, fed by pieces of driftwood which Widdy brought from various points. The leaping flames illuminated the place, and cast dancing, fantastic shadows of the little party upon the sands.
"Frank, you get some water," ordered Dick, "and then see what you can find to boil it in. Pedro says they left him some coffee."
"Yes, and a few cooking utensils," added the Cuban. "I think there is also a coffee pot."
"Good!" cried Dick. "Beeby, drop your camera and get busy. What do you think I'm paying you for—to pose as a living picture?"
"I was going to take a snapshot of the fire," pleaded the fat lad.
"Make a snapshot of yourself bringing up more wood," ordered Dick, with a laugh. "We'll need it before morning. Tim, you and Paul and Henry get busy on enlarging the shelter. There is quite an addition to your family, Pedro, since last night."
"Yes, but there will be room for all," said the elder Cuban, cheerfully. Nothing mattered to him, now that his son was found.