The shore he was on terminated in a ridge of rocks that ran far out into the water. Dave wondered if the exploring spirit had moved Hiram to attempt an entire circle about the island.
"He went away in swimming trim," thought Dave, "so that may be so.
I'll go out on that ledge of rocks and explore a little myself."
"Hello, Dave Dashaway!" sang out an exultant voice, just as Dave was about to remove his shoes.
Around the ledge of rock came a light skiff. The oarsman was Dave's missing comrade. He drove the boat upon the sandy beach and leaped out with a gay laugh.
"Why, Hiram," exclaimed the young aviator in marked surprise.
"It's me," chuckled Hiram. "Stole a march on you. Nearly dry," he added, shaking his clinging garments. "And oh! what a swim."
"You have been to the mainland?" questioned Dave.
"Where else? When you said 'swim' last night, it gave me an idea. I'm some swimmer, Dave Dashaway. Always was. Took the prize in a contest in Plum Creek back at home one Fourth of July. I found a way out of that shut in place and made a jolly dive for shore."
"But the skiff?"
"You'll need one, won't you?" challenged Hiram.