Ben was ten, perhaps fifteen miles on the way back. What his object could have been in playing him such a dastardly trick, or what possible excuse he could make to Giles Packard for returning alone, Rupert could not conjecture. He took it for granted that Boone would go back to his old home at Red Gulch. He did not dream of his plan of going to New York. If he had, this would have explained his sudden defection. Rupert stood on the shore of the river and looked up the stream. Everything was calm and placid, and lonely. At the East he would have seen houses, on the banks and passing boats, but here he found himself alone with nature. Without thinking especially what he was doing, he started to walk up stream, that is, along the river bank in an easterly direction. "If I could only come across a boat," he soliloquized, "no matter how poor, I should think it a piece of great luck." But it was too great luck for him. Still he kept on walking and looking about him, but he not only saw no boat, but no indication of any human presence. He had walked quite five miles, as he judged from the passage of time, when at last he made a discovery. Moored to the bank was a dismantled raft, if such an expression is allowable. Rupert remembered now that on their trip down the river Boone had called his attention to it, saying: "It must have been left there by some party of travelers." Rupert little thought how serviceable this would prove to him. His eyes lighted up with joy, for he hailed the finding of the raft as a good omen, and foresaw how important it would prove to him. "But was it in a condition for use?" That was the important question. Rupert bent down and examined it critically. The boards were still pretty firm, though water-soaked, and seemed to be securely fastened together. The rope that fastened it to the small sapling on the bank was quite rotten, and it was a wonder that it had not parted. Rupert pulled on it to see how secure it was, and it broke. This, however, was of little consequence. He selected a long stick to serve as an oar, and getting on the raft, pushed out into the stream. The stick, however, made a very poor substitute for an oar. Still he found that it was of some use. But just as he was starting he discovered, almost covered with underbrush, the paddle which had probably been used by the parties who had constructed and used the raft. This worked tolerably well, and he was glad to have found it. At last he was ready, and started on his journey. He found his progress slow, and his task toilsome. Still he was making progress, and that was encouraging. How rapid this progress he could only conjecture. It might be two miles an hour; probably it was not more than that, and he was obliged to confess with a sinking of the heart that it would take a very long time at this rate before he would get back.