“Now, what next?” asked Herb, when the entire five had reached land, and the boat was amply secured to a split rock, with little danger of any injury resulting, because there was no wind and hence no movement to the water.
“We’ve got to advance,” Jack replied. “So as to get around that point; when we’ll see the camp Joe told us about. Those fellows have got a big rowboat, he said, but hate to work the oars. He said they first talked of making the boys do the rowing; and then that scheme for getting more money came up. Are you ready for the job?”
“I am that,” said Jimmie, promptly, flourishing a club that looked like a baseball bat; and which would be apt to prove a formidable weapon in hands that were as clever as those of the stout Irish lad.
“Count me in,” remarked Herb, who was carrying a hatchet; having nothing else to serve him as a threatening weapon that might strike terror to the hearts of the enemy.
“And I’m only too anxious to look in on ’em. Let me eat ’em up!” Josh growled, flourishing the camp bread knife in a most dreadful fashion.
George had his rifle, and of course Jack carried the repeating Marlin shotgun which had proven its value on many another occasion.
“Then come on, and be mighty careful, everybody,” Jack cautioned, as he led off.
They remembered what Joe had said about the “rough sledding” he had found in his endeavor to keep close to the water’s edge, so that he might not get lost. And every one of the five were willing to admit that Joe spoke the truth when he told this; for they made the slowest kind of progress.
Still, every yard passed over took them so much closer to the goal. And so long as they did not tumble and make a noise that would warn the enemy, it mattered little or nothing about the time they took in covering the ground.