"It's no use," said Frank. "Our folks'll cane us now when we get
home. Going along, Dave--with me?"

"How far do you s'pose the boat's drifted by now, Jerry?" asked Dave
instead of answering Frank.

"Can't tell. She's probably stuck on a sandbar or a snag, anywhere
from five to twenty-five miles down. Don't go along, Dave, unless
you want to."

"Better come home with me," urged Frank.

"Do you _need_ me along, Jerry?" queried Dave uncertainly.

"No--" shortly--"no _I_ don't. Mr. Fulton does--Tod does."

Jerry rose stiffly to his feet and started slowly off in the faint
moonlight, without so much as a look behind.

"So long, Jerry," called Frank. "Come on, Dave."

But Dave slowly shook his head and reluctantly followed the
footsteps of his chum.

"Hold on a minute, old man; I'll stick with you."




CHAPTER III