ds he might pick up an
oar, a paddle, or at least something that would answer in place of
these, and from that instant they acquired a new interest.

The next one that he approached was only a tow-head, which is a
sand-bar on which has sprung up a thick growth of slender cotton-woods,
or other quick-shooting, water-loving trees.

"I might find what I want there as well as on a larger island," thought
Winn, "and, at any rate, I'll make a try for it." So when the skiff
had drifted as near the tow-head as it seemed likely to, and was
rapidly sliding past it, the boy threw off his coat, kicked off his
shoes, and, taking one end of the skiff's painter with him, plunged
overboard and began to swim towards the desired point.

The distance was not more than a hundred feet, but the current swept
him down so much more rapidly than he expected that he was barely able
to catch one of the very last of the tow-head saplings and cling to it.
While his own progress was thus checked, that of the skiff was not, and
in a second the painter was jerked from his hand.

Exhausted as he was, Winn was on the point of letting go his hold on
the sapling and making a desperate effort to overtake the rapidly
receding skiff. Fortunately he had enough practical sense, though this
is not generally credited to sixteen-year-old boys, to restrain him
from such a rash act. So he crawled out on the sand beach, and sat
there watching what he considered to be his only hope grow smaller and
smaller until it finally disappeared. As it did so, the sun slowly
sank behind the western bluffs; and though the boy did not look up from
the wet sand on which he had flung himself, he knew instinctively that
another night, with its darkness, its chill, and its nameless terrors,
was upon him.

He was so numbed by this latest disaster that he had not the heart even
to seek a place of shelter for the night. What good would anything
that he could find or construct do him? He had neither matches nor
food, dry clothing nor bedding. What did it matter, though? He would
probably be dead before the sun rose again, anyway. So the poor lad
nursed his misery, and might, in truth, have lain on those wet sands
until he perished, so despairing was he, when all at once he was
aroused by a sound so strange to hear in that place that, though he
raised his head to listen, he thought he must be dreaming. He wasn't,
though, for there came again to his ears, as distinct as anyt