CHAPTER IX.
THE DESPERATION OF HUNGER.
The night was still. Only the soft wash of the tiny waves on the shore came to the ears of the Tramp's skipper as he thus raised his head to take an observation.
First he looked in the direction of the three motor boats, and in particular the one on board of which George was sleeping. Perhaps he had a slight suspicion to the effect that some movement on the part of this chum had caused the scuffling sounds.
His search for an explanation in this quarter proved to be a failure. He could plainly see the tan-colored canvas tent which covered the speed boat; but it seemed to be perfectly motionless.
Just then Jack sniffed the air two or three times. Come, that was surely a most delightful odor that seemed to be wafted in his quarter. Had Nick, for instance, been alongside, and wide-awake, he would have immediately declared that it reminded him of roast duck!
By the way, they did have a full half dozen waders in the process of baking in that crude earthen oven. Jack shot a quick glance over in the direction where he and Nick had built the receptacle.
What could that dark object be? Even as he looked he surely saw it move. Yes, a second and more positive examination convinced him of this fact. Then there was danger of the expected breakfast being carried off while they slept.
Was it some prowling bear that had followed the scent, and dug out the cooked fowls? The bulk of the figure assured him that it could be no ordinary raccoon, or even a cunning fox.