To get on land without wetting their feet proved rather difficult, but, at length, all save Tom stood on shore.
"Catch, Dave," he called, and one by one the necessary provisions were tossed into the poet laureate's waiting arms.
Tommy Clifton's legs were a trifle shorter than those of the others, therefore he looked rather blankly at the marshy stretch between himself and the shore.
"Ha, ha!" laughed Dick. "And that branch over your head isn't strong enough to hold."
"Here goes—look out!" cried Tom.
He made a flying leap, falling on his hands and knees, but the ground was soft, and no harm resulted.
"The boat is pretty well hidden," observed Bob, with satisfaction. "Guess there is no danger in leaving her."
"Of course not. Come along," urged Sam; "I'm all cramped up. Feel like an old salt."
"No sign of the Trailers," said Tom; "and whoever damaged the engine must be miles away."
They wandered around, through a heavily timbered tract, then into a pleasant little valley, enclosed by gently rounded, wooded hills.