the shack, by splitting it with a small axe. But the result was only a weak, wobbly staff, that broke the first time it was used.
"We've just got to drift on—until something happens," said Mr. Ringold.
Joe examined their cameras, for they had two, and also the developed and undeveloped films. The latter were safe in the water-tight cases. In the afternoon, when it cleared a little, Joe and Blake took more moving pictures from the front end of the raft.
They saw no craft of any kind. They seemed alone on the waste of waters.
Night came, and they floated on. They ate less now, for they wanted to make their food supply last as long as possible. But the victuals seemed to go alarmingly fast.
"Maybe we'll drift ashore to-morrow," said Mr. Ringold, hopefully. "If we do we'll leave the raft, and walk until we get to some place where we can hire a boat. For, now that we are reasonably certain that our friends are somewhere down the river, we must make every effort to find them."
It was about midnight when they were all awakened by a severe shock.
"What's that?" cried Mr. Ringold, leaping from his bunk.
