When Jack awoke them it was with a word of caution.
“We’ve got to the Iron Gate, fellows,” was what he told them, “and I thought you would be sorry if you didn’t have a chance to see for yourselves. Besides, there’s more or less danger for us in the next half hour, so I concluded you ought to be on deck. No talking now, please, but watchful waiting.”
They sat there and counted the minutes as the boat passed between what seemed like high bluffs. George could easily understand now why the place was called the Iron Gate. Bulgaria’s nearest border lay only thirty miles away, but the intervening country was so rocky and wild that an army would have a frightful time trying to force its way across the strip, especially when such valiant fighters as the Serbians manned the heights.
Nothing happened, however, and later on Jack calmly announced that they had made the turn in safety upon which so much depended.
Instead of Austria, they now had Rumania on their left, and as that country was at peace with Serbia, there was little occasion for believing the shores would be manned by troops or batteries.
Jack consented to go and lie down as the faint streaks of coming dawn began to appear in the east. He had been under a heavy strain, although his manner was so cheerful that one would never suspect it; and he certainly needed a good long rest.
They did not wake him up for breakfast, acting on his orders. This frugal meal Buster prepared while they were going at full speed down the constantly widening river.
So the morning passed. At noon Jack made his appearance and announced that he felt like a new man again. George, who had been skipper for the time being, refused to resign his post of honor until dinner time had come and gone. Tired of being on board, they found a good retired place and went ashore to prepare this meal, as well as “loaf” for an hour or two in the heat of the day.
Long before night came on they had left turbulent Serbia far behind and found themselves running between Bulgaria and Rumania.