"What's your plan now, Sam?" asked Tom, when the boat had been
secured, and a fire built.

"First and foremost, where are we?" asked Sid Russell.

"Yes, an' how fur is it to somewhere else?" questioned Billy Bowlegs.

"An' is we gwine to somewher's or somewher's else?" demanded black
Joe, with a grin.

"One question at a time," said Sam, "and they will go a good deal
farther."

"Well, begin with Sid's question, then?" said Tommy. "His is the most
sensible; where are we?"

"We're on an island," returned Sam, "and the island is somewhere here
in the upper part of Escambia bay. You see how it lies on our map.
The bay ends down there in Pensacola bay, and there is Pensacola,
about fifteen miles away. We came here, you know, to find out what is
going on in Pensacola and its neighborhood, and my plan is to run down
past the town, to some point four or five miles below, in the
neighborhood of Fort Barrancas. There I'll set up a fishing camp, but
first I must get tackle, and, if possible, some duck cloth for a
sail."

At this point the conversation was interrupted by the sudden
appearance of a canoe's bow in their midst. Their fire was built near
the water's edge, and the canoe which interrupted them had been
paddled silently to the bank, so that its bow extended nearly into