It was nearly noon, and the last of the opossum meat had been served, and the last of the coffee made. Blake and Joe went down to the pile of boxes, to lift them about again.
“We might find another ’possum,” remarked Blake, and he took the rifle with him. But, to their regret, there were no more aboard.
“I’d be glad to see even a muskrat,” spoke Joe. But none of those animals, which are greatly relished by some persons, was on the raft.
“If we only had our fishing tackle, we might try our luck in the river,” suggested C. C.
“I guess we could rig up something,” said Blake.
There was no need to do this, as they found some lines and hooks in the cabin. They used some of the opossum skin for bait, but either the river was too high, or the bait was not tempting enough, for they got no bites.
Late that afternoon the raft swung around a bend in the river, and at once there appeared, just below, a large island.
“We’re heading right for it!” yelled Blake. “We’d better try to steer to one side.”
But to do this was out of the question. They had no method of steering their unwieldy craft.
On they rushed, straight for the island, which was of large extent. It was quite high, and well wooded.