“Look there! Up—up yonder! Isn’t that smoke?”
“Smoke from what?” demanded Dan, glancing over his shoulder quickly. He dared not neglect the course ahead for long, although the boat was not traveling fast.
“From fire, of course!” snapped Billy. “What does smoke usually come from?”
“Sometimes from a pipe,” chuckled Dan. “I don’t see anything——”
“Above the tops of those trees—right in the middle of the island.”
“I—don’t—see——”
“There! rising straight against the sky.”
“Why—it’s mist—frost—something,” growled Dan. “It can’t be smoke.”
“I tell you it is!” cried Billy. “What else could it be? There’s no mist in such frosty weather as this.”
“But—smoke?”