"Crusoe Island," as Nat had named it, was quite a distance from the track of boats, the Clair Bay line of steamers passing so far away as to be scarcely visible. It was not inhabited, and even fishing boats rarely came to its shores.
The boys, thanks to the strange kindness of the "honest man" who stole, were well provided with food. They found game very scarce, and, indeed, there was little to be said in favor of the island. Swampy pools, wild, desolate expanses of meadows stretched along the shore, while back of these were areas of sand and rocks. The spot on which the boys had happened to land was about the best part of the entire place.
They made every effort to attract the attention of the few boats which were seen, and, after five weary days, most of which were spent in fighting mosquitoes, succeeded.
Bob Somers, waving a huge cloth attached to a pole, attracted the attention of a couple of fishermen.
Arrangements were made to take them to the mainland, where they camped out over night. Then the boys took a train at a small station some miles away and rode back to Clair Bay, reaching that town early in the morning.
They were heavily laden with their camping outfits, and it was a weary lot of boys that trudged up to the Badger State Hotel.
"My uncle told me he was going to stay here for a couple of weeks," said Nat; "I hope we shall find him in."
Mr. Wingate seemed to take the loss of the motor boat very calmly.
"It wasn't your fault, boys, I know," he went on; "still—and I speak to all of you—I think you had better return to Kingswood with me this afternoon. Let me see, there's a train at 4:15. Your parents must be very much worried about you."
"I'd like to stay here a while," ventured John Hackett.