suicide--no one knew, but everyone was positive that there was
something fearfully, terribly wrong with Lost Island.

It was one of the few islands in Plum Run which was not flooded over
by the spring freshets, and the land was fertile, yet no one had
ever been known to live there through a season; this in spite of the
fact that Lost Island was known as "squatter's land," open to
settlement by anyone who desired it.

And Lost Island lay barely half a mile farther down the river. Jerry
fervently hoped that their search would be ended before they were in
the shadow of that forsaken territory. His nerves were not calmed
any by the tremble in Dave's voice as he shouted across:

"Lost Island's just below us, Jerry. Shall we go on?"

"Sure thing, Dave!" called Jerry with a confidence he did not feel.
"It can't be any worse than what we've already gone through--and
we've gone through _that_ all right."

"Supposing," hesitated Dave, "supposing the boat's grounded on Lost
Island itself----"

"It's the boat we're looking for, isn't it?" But Jerry knew as he
spoke, that, hard as the going was, he would be well satisfied to
discover the boat five weary miles farther on.

Once more they plodded along, the dark, forbidding hulk of Lost
Island looming nearer and nearer. Just before passing behind the
northern point Jerry came out to the water's edge and had cupped his