“But I feel that I am to blame in the matter,” said Dan earnestly, “and I ought to be allowed to do all I can to—er—remedy things.”
“Well, you can’t shoot my revolver,” answered Bob dryly. “But you can hold the cartridges.”
“Let me shoot once,” Dan begged. Bob relented and between them they banged away into the air until there was a good-sized hole in the contents of the cartridge box and Bob called a halt. Then they listened attentively.
“There!” whispered Dan.
“Steamboat whistle,” said Bob, and Nelson nodded concurrence.
“Let’s shout,” said Dan. They shouted. Then they stopped and listened again. There was not a sound to be heard save the faint lapping of the waves against the shore.
CHAPTER XVIII—IN WHICH TOM PUTS UP AT THE SEAMONT INN
Tom stirred uneasily and brushed his nose with his hand. A drop of moisture had formed on it and was tickling him. Dimly aware of a change in conditions since he had fallen asleep, he opened his eyes, blinked, and sat up. The tent had disappeared; Dan had disappeared; Nelson had disappeared; everyone had disappeared! There was nothing in sight save, a few feet away, the blackened remains of last night’s fire and the pile of wood which he had collected. After the first expression of surprise had passed from his countenance a smile of amusement settled on it. Tom chuckled.
“I’ll bu-bu-bet Dan did it,” he said half aloud. He threw his blanket from him and stood up. The fog was so thick that he couldn’t see the edge of the shore, but he remembered where the tender had been and, with blanket over his shoulders, he walked toward it. He found the landing but no tender.
“I suppose they’re waiting for me to yell out to them. Well, they probably won’t come until I do. So here goes: O Dan! O fellows!”