"Bother the luck," exclaimed Ned. "What on earth am I to do?"
It was truly a quandary. The camp was located in a lonely bit of country and it was without doubt a long walk to the nearest place of civilization.
"Marooned, and all for the lack of a few dollars!" groaned Ned. "If only I had some money along, I might easily get some fisherman to run me to the nearest town, and once there, I could get hold of a telegraph wire and send some despatches. But now——"
He stopped short. His gaze had lighted on something standing outside one of the tents. It did not take him long to make out what it was. The moonlight showed up its butterfly-like outlines to perfection.
"Great hookey!" muttered Ned, "a flying boat! If—if—I only dared, I'd——"
He paused irresolute a moment, and then, squaring his shoulders and thrusting out his chin with his old determined gesture, he strode off down the hill.
A daring plan had come into Ned's mind and with his characteristic energy he was proceeding to act upon it at once.
But it was a scheme so risky, so desperate, that sanguine as the Dreadnought Boy usually was, he had to admit that the chances were about five hundred to one against his putting it through successfully.