Boy Scouts of the Air on Lost Island | Page 9

as if by magic. Only the deep gloom of thick- set willows lay before him.
"The fire's gone!" came in alarmed tones from Dave.
"_Tod--Oh, Tod!_" rang out once more through the still night air.
This time there was an answer, but not the one the boys expected. A gruff voice demanded angrily:
"Say, you idiots--what in the thunder you want!"
"We're looking for a boy who was drowned up at----" began Jerry, who was closest to the high point where a man was presently seen stalking through the fringe of bushes.
"Boy who was drowned? Calling for him! Ye crazy loons!" interrupted the man.
"We don't know whether he was drowned or not," answered Jerry hotly.
"Well I'll never tell you," was the surly response. With a disgusted shrug of the shoulders the great hulk of a man slouched back toward the center of the island, pausing just before he disappeared once more in the wilderness to warn:
"Any more of that howling's going to bring a charge of buckshot, and I don't care which of you I hit."
"Do you care if we come over and look along the shore of the island?" shouted Dave at the retreating figure.
The answer, which was more like a growl than a human response, left no doubt of the man's meaning. Neither boy felt the slightest desire to swim across to Lost Island. Instead Jerry waved his arms over his head and then pointed downstream.
So once more they trudged along, disheartened more than ever, for somehow the actions of that weird figure on Lost Island had made their search look more of a wild goose chase than ever. The island was soon passed, but Jerry found himself peering hopelessly across a sluggish, muddy-bottomed slough that promised many a weary minute of wading before he could hope to establish communication with his companion again.
So it was with a great feeling of relief that, once more on solid ground, he heard Dave's call.
"Say, Jerry, we're pretty near down to Tomlinson's wagon bridge. What you say that we hustle on down and meet halfway across--and wait there for daylight. I'm about woozified."
"Good!" agreed Jerry, pleased that the suggestion had come from Dave. "Even the thought of it rests my old legs till they feel like new. I'll just race you to it!"
But it was a slow sort of race, for neither boy was willing to take a chance in passing the most innocent shadow--which always turned out to be a water-soaked log or a back-eddied swirl of foam. Nevertheless, it was a spent Dave who sank gasping to the rough plank floor of the middle span of the wagon bridge a scant second ahead of another puffing boy.
A good ten minutes they lay there, breathing hard. Then both rose and walked over to the edge and leaned heavily against the girders as they looked gloomily down the river.
"Looks almost hopeless, doesn't it!" admitted Jerry, finally.
"Worst of it is we don't really know whether she's down below yet or if we've passed it. She was riding pretty low."
"Wonder what that man was doing on Lost Island?" speculated Jerry, crossing wearily to the north edge of the bridge and peering through the gray dawn-mist toward the island, barely visible now. A mere twinkle of light showed among the trees, and he stood there for a long minute. Dave come to his side, and the two waited in silence for the dawn. Jerry had almost fallen asleep standing up, when a sudden clutch at his arm nearly overbalanced him and sent him tumbling off the dizzy height.
"Look!" gasped Dave.
"What is it?" exclaimed Jerry, turning to his companion, all sleep gone.
"I'll swear it's the boat--right under us!"

CHAPTER IV
MORE THRILLS
It was only a bare few seconds before the floating object had passed within the shadow of the bridge, but there could be no doubt about it; it was a boat, riding so low that only her outline showed. Jerry rubbed his eyes in disbelief, but for only an instant. Then he sprang to the other side of the bridge, shedding hat, coat, trousers, shirt and shoes, on the way. So, at least, it seemed to Dave, who caught his chum's arm, as Jerry poised himself, his body white and gleaming in the moonlight, on the high rail that ran along the edge.
"What you going to do, Jerry? It's a good thirty feet to the water-- and you don't know how deep it is down there."
"I'm diving shallow, Dave; two feet is all I ask below. We can't take any chances of losing her. Carry my clothes along the bank, will you? I'll try to make the east side--it looks a little closer."
In the few seconds they had talked, the boat had drifted under the bridge and now cut through the silver-edged shadow of the last timbers.
There was a quiver of