“Well, let’s see where we’re at,” suggested Mr. Ringold. “What have we here?”
“Nothing to eat; that’s certain,” remarked Joe. “And I could take in a whole——”
“Don’t you dare say porterhouse steak!” interrupted Blake. “That would be adding insult to injury.”
“All right; then I won’t,” agreed Joe.
“It’s coming on night,” spoke Mr. Ringold. “If we can’t have supper we must, at least, provide some sort of shelter. We have some blankets, and we can cut down poles, and make a tent. It looks as though it was going to rain again.”
“It sure does,” agreed Blake. “We’ve got to have some sort of shelter.”
“To say nothing of something to eat,” added Joe, in a low voice.
“Eat! I’d give a good bit, just for a muskrat sandwich!” said Blake.
Tired and discouraged, but still not giving up all hope, our friends set to work to make a rude tent. By the use of blankets and poles they made one, well up from the water.
Fortunately the island was of high, sloping formation, and, knowing that the river might rise suddenly, they went far enough away from the edge, to preclude any possibility of being overwhelmed in the night.