Gritty, the puppy, whose short legs got tangled up in the underbrush.
They reached the other shore just as dusk fell, and there saw a mass of leaves and branches which the Spanish lad had piled into a rude sort of shelter. He showed them where he had stored the canned stuff which his captors had left for him.
"Why, that isn't so bad," announced Dick, as he saw the food supply.
"Is there any fresh water?" asked Tim Muldoon. "I'm as dry as a fish!"
"There is a good spring near here," announced Pedro.
"Then we'll build a fire and camp out!" declared Paul. "Being marooned isn't so bad, after all; eh Dick?"
"Maybe not," agreed the young millionaire, as he helped the others gather fuel for the fire.
Soon a cheerful blaze was roaring on the beach, fed by pieces of driftwood which Widdy brought from various points. The leaping flames illuminated the place, and cast dancing, fantastic shadows of the little party upon the sands.
"Frank, you get some water," ordered Dick, "and then see what you can find to boil it in. Pedro says they left him some cofifee."
"Yes, and a few cooking utensils," added the Cuban. "I think there is also a coffee pot."
"Good!" cried Dick. "Beeby, drop your camera
