somebody calling for help,"
replied Thad, slowly; "but you notice that it wasn't repeated. And that
makes me think now it must have been some fishhawk screaming. I've known
them to make a queer sort of a sound."

"Just what it must have been," remarked Bob, nodding his head in
approval.

Bumpus, however, did not seem to be wholly satisfied.

"Say, it went right through me," he observed. "I just seemed to have a
cold feeling run up and down my spine, like you'd emptied a cup of
ice-water down my neck. Think we've seen enough of the old island by
now, Thad? Hadn't we better be turning around, and heading back for
camp?"

"Well, I should say not, Bumpus, bless your timid soul," replied Thad,
laughingly. "Why, that only makes Bob here and myself the more anxious
to land, and look the island over. If there's anything queer around, we
ought to find out all about it. Am I right, Bob?"

The answer the Southern lad made was very suggestive. He simply dipped
his paddle into the water again, and with several sturdy movements of
his arms sent the boat forward once more, headed directly for the shore
of the island. Bumpus drew up his plump shoulders, but he made no
protest. It would not have done him much good if he did try to say
anything. No doubt they would have told him that the walking back to
camp was good, and no dust blowing, if he wanted to return.

He simply gripped both sides of the boat, and held on, while keeping his
eyes fastened on the shore they were now fast approaching.

No further sounds were heard, save the water lapping among the rocks,
and giving out a musical gurgling in the rising wind.

"There's a good landing where that little sandy beach runs along," Thad
remarked, as they drew in closer.

"So it is, suh," replied the paddler. "I was just making up my mind to
head foh it when you spoke. Here she goes, now."

Thad was half standing, and as the prow of the boat grated on the sand
he made a flying leap for the shore. Bumpus looked as though he half
expected to see some terrible monster dart out of the brushwood, and
seize upon the scout-master. He heaved a sigh of relief when nothing of
the sort came about; and even condescended to waddle ashore
himself--that is the only word capable of doing justice to the clumsy
actions of Bumpus when in a narrow boat like a canoe.

So the three scouts now stood on the sandy beach. Bumpus scanned the
bushes, but Thad was observing certain marks on the little sa