"I'll wager he's asleep again," declared Dick Travers.
Again the boys gave a vigorous shout. But when the last throbbing echoes died away, dreary silence still reigned in the solitude.
"That's very strange," exclaimed Bob Somers, with a touch of alarm in his voice.
He broke into a run, the others following close at his heels. The outlines of the lean-to flashed into view, but the lone member of the Rambler Club was nowhere to be seen.
"What can it mean?" asked Bob Somers, in surprise.
Then a most astounding discovery was made. The boys raced at full speed to the river, where panting and almost breathless, they paused, to gaze excitedly up and down its banks. Both motor boats had disappeared.
A small object, revealed by the light of the moon, lay on the muddy bank. Bob Somers stooped, and picked up Dave Brandon's well-worn copy of Bryant's poems.
Torn with doubt and perplexity, they looked from one to another. At this moment, the sound of a shot, far off in the distance, was borne faintly to their ears.
"What was that?" cried John Hackett, excitedly. "Listen!"
They all stood in silence, straining their ears. Then, after an interval, another report came over the water.