Their stay was not long, for all of them were anxious to reach the beautiful island known as Mackinac by evening. So once more the fleet put out, and in a clump bucked into the northwest breeze and the sea.
They were now heading due northwest, and about three in the afternoon George declared he could see land dead ahead which he believed must be Bois Blanc Island.
“I reckon now you’re just about right,” said Jack, after he had consulted his map, and then in turn peeped through his marine glasses. “For the way we head, there couldn’t be any other land straight on. If that’s so, fellows, we’ll raise the hilly island just beyond pretty soon.”
Before four they could get a sight of what seemed a little green gem set in the glittering sea of water.
“That’s Mackinac, all right,” observed George. “I can see white dots among the green, that stand for the houses. We’re going to get there today, fellows. Told you so, Buster. Me for a juicy steak tonight then.”
“Oh! don’t mention it, please,” gasped Nick. “You make my mouth fairly water. And if our boss cook would only suggest fried onions along with it, my cup of joy would be running over.”
“Sure,” called out Josh, “if you promise to peel the tear-getters. We need such a heap to satisfy that enormous appetite of yours, not to mention some others I know, that I refuse to undertake the job.”
“Oh! all right; count on me!” cried Nick, looking around as though anxious to begin work at once, a proceeding that George vetoed on the spot.
“I need my eyes to see how to steer, thank you, Buster,” he declared. “You just hold in your horses. Plenty of time. Besides, most of the onions are aboard the Comfort along with Josh.”