They forgot to put it overboard."
"Evidently they didn't intend to stay long," suggested Jack.
"Look at Rowdy. You didn't know he was a bloodhound, did you?"
"Go it, boy," urged Jack. "Find Arnold. Find Harry."
The bulldog circled about the spot where the boys had eaten dinner, lost
the scent, picked it up again, again dropped it and finally started away
in dead earnest. Hastening along the boys had hard work to keep up with
him. Through forest and glade, across swampy places and over ridges the
dog led the lads ever at a swift pace. Once in a while he stopped to
give vent to a fierce growl.
At length the boys becoming exhausted called a halt.
"Make Rowdy rest a while until I get my breath," protested Tom.
"He seems to know pretty near where he's going," Jack said.
"Yes," agreed Frank, "and I have an idea that he's trailing the boys.
The point that worries me is whether we can find our way back to the
tree where the boats are tied."
"I think so," replied Jack. "When we left the river we struck straight
back for a little distance then turned directly to our left and have
followed nearly a straight course since. I have seen the stars every
little while and I'm sure I could find my way back."
"We're going against the wind, aren't we?" questioned Tom.
"Yes, what little wind there is," replied Jack, "Why?"
"Oh, nothing. I just get foolish notions in my head, that's all."
"What's the foolish notion, now, Tom?" queried Jack in a kindly tone.
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