They were no longer content to remain stationary, and the boats were urged forward with moderate speed, instead of being simply kept head-on to the waves. But as every man was now hopeful and vigilant, and ready to plunge into the water, if necessary, in order to prevent a disaster, the peril rapidly diminished.
Their new hope did not deceive them. There began to be more appreciable abatement in the violence of the waves and the wind—slight, yet plainly perceptible.
After an hour and a half of laborious rowing they drew near the shore. Long before the keels grated on the pebbly beach some of the men jumped overboard in their excitement and swam to the shore. They were eager to set their feet firmly on it and make sure that it was no mirage—no mocking dream.
The place where they had landed was utterly unknown even to Buffalo Bill, for he had not hitherto explored the coasts of the lake. For all that he knew they might be a hundred miles from any human habitation, except, perhaps, those of men whom it would be dangerous to meet—the redskins.
While most of the men rested and ate their rations the border king set out with Captain Meinhold on an exploring trip.
The news which they had to bring back when they returned to their party toward evening was not encouraging.
They had discovered that they had landed on an island—and one of no great dimensions, either.
They had seen no signs of human habitations—not even a track or so much as a broken twig to show that the place was visited by men from the mainland.
This was not strange, for it was evident to the two explorers that the island could not support life for any length of time, certainly not for such a large party as theirs.
The men ate their supper gloomily when they heard these tidings. They had had enough of the boats and never wanted to enter them again, but it was evident that they must.