“Why, I remember now, that he asked me for the loan of my gun some little while back, and said he’d like to take a stroll down the beach, thinking there might be a bunch of those nice little shore birds on some mud flat, that he could bring back with him,” Herb said, looking perplexed.
“How long ago was that?” Jack demanded.
“I guess all of an hour; just after you went out when George called.”
“Has anybody heard a shot?” asked Jack.
But nobody had; and, as the night came on, the five boys began to realize that something must surely have happened to their lengthy chum.
[CHAPTER VII.]
THE LOST CHUM.
Uneasiness increased as the shadows of night began to fall around them; and the motor boat boys cast many anxious glances toward the gloomy patches of mangroves along the shore, as well as the denser sawgrass, dwarf palmetto and trees that covered the mainland.
“I don’t like this at all,” Jack finally declared. “We’ve shouted enough for any one with ears, within half a mile, to have heard us.”