“Yes; there isn’t much in this sort of business; we must have a time that we can tell the boys about when we go up north.”
Just then the speaker happened to look down stream, and noticed a boat that appeared to be approaching.
“Who can that be?” he asked in astonishment.
“My gracious!” gasped Joe, leaping to his feet, “it is our dugout!”
Such was the fact. They had left it drawn up so slightly on the shingle, that it had swung loose, and was already a hundred feet below the island.
The astounded lads looked in each other’s face, speechless for a full minute. Well might they ask themselves what should be done, for you will bear in mind that neither of them knew how to swim, that they were in a lonely region where they could not be certain of any person passing for days or weeks, and that there was nothing on the island from which anything in the nature of a raft or float could be constructed.
The boys were plucky, and had either one of them known how to swim, he could have helped the other to the main land, and they would have considered the adventure of a nature that need cause little misgiving. They concluded that the only thing to be done was to fire their guns and shout, in the faint hope of attracting the attention of some one within call.
Accordingly, they discharged their rifles, and yelled and whistled until the sun sank in the west, but without the slightest evidence of success.
As the day advanced, the alligators showed more signs of life. They swam back and forth in the river, and at one or two points a number engaged in a fierce fight, causing no little splashing and turmoil in the water. Occasionally one of them would run his hideous snout against the island, but they did nothing more than stare at the youngsters, when they whirled about and swam into deep water again.
While the brothers had no special fear of these huge reptiles, they were not without misgiving, for they well knew that they occasionally attacked persons. They kept close watch, therefore, and it was well that they did.