He kept to the right, heading toward the last of the boats as he remembered its location. The Hammond boy had gone straight down the beach and Roy had no desire to overtake him. In a moment his feet were in the water, splashing softly. Vague forms came and went in the darkness and his hands groped toward them. It is probable, however, that he would have waded straight into the middle of the stream had not a low voice hailed him.
"Here you are, Jim, get in here!"
Roy turned toward the voice, stumbled over a sunken stone and collided with the side of a rowboat.
"Don't make so much noise, you plunger!" said the voice. "Give me your hand."
Roy gave it and was promptly hauled over the side of the boat. Someone pulled him down upon a seat.
"All right!" whispered the voice.
"All right, fellows!" called someone in the next boat softly. And there came the sound of creaking rowlocks.
"Got your oar?" whispered the fellow who shared Roy's seat. Roy felt around and found it and began to row.
"Look out, you fellows!" called a voice from the darkness beside them, and they ceased rowing while another boat crossed ahead of them.
"More to the right," commanded a boy behind Roy and Roy pulled hard on his oar. Presently a little breeze came into their faces and Roy guessed that they were rounding the lower end of the island. Very silently they went. After a little Roy turned his head and saw a light here and there on the farther shore. He judged that they were by this time about half way across. The fellows about him began to converse in whispers, gradually forgetting caution as they left the island farther and farther behind.