long enough to allow Dave to break cover first on the opposite shore
and send a vigorous but quavery "hello" across the water.

"I'm stuck on the fence!" shouted Jerry in return. "Go ahead. I'll
be along directly."

But he noticed that Dave stood waiting on the shore when he finally
managed to release himself and broke through the thin fringe of
willows. "All right, Dave," he urged. "Let's not be losing any
time."

For a while the going was much easier. On Jerry's side a wide reach
of sand lay smooth and firm in the pale moonlight. On Dave's side a
few yards of sand lay between a steep bank and the water's edge, but
every few hundred feet a shallow creek broke through and forced
wading.

There was no chance for the boat to have stranded here, and the boys
hurried along. Within a mile the character of the ground changed.
Now the water lapped along under high, steep banks, with tiny,
willow-covered islands alternating with bass-haunted snags of
dislodged trees barricaded with driftwood. The moon cast queer
shadows and more than once Jerry's heart felt a wild thrill as he
fancied he saw a boat hull outlined against the silvered current.

Every few hundred yards the two boys stopped and sent encouraging
shouts across the widening water. It was a lonesome, disheartening
task, with every step making the task all the harder. Deep bays cut
into the shore line; the feeder creeks grew wider and deeper. The
night air was chill on their dripping shoulders. Plum Run was no