There was nothing more to do that night, after making Prince secure. The boys ate a little mid-night supper, and from the tent of the girls came the odor of chocolate, which Grace insisted on making. Then, after fitful slumbers, morning came. Will was up early to examine Prince. He found the healed cut, where the auto had struck, and there was evidence that the saddle had been on the animal until recently. The iron stirrups would account for the sound like chains. “The saddle must be somewhere on this island,” declared Will. “I’m going to find it.” “How?” asked Allen, who had made a careful toilet, as Betty had promised to go for a row with him. “I’ll strap a pad on Prince, get on his back, and see where he takes me. The way I figure is this. Prince never liked to be in the open. I’m almost certain he has been staying in some sort of shelter—either a cave, or an old cabin, or stable on the island. The saddle may have come off there. Now he’ll most likely take me right to his stopping place. Of course he may not, but it’s worth trying.” “Indeed it is,” agreed Prank. After a hasty breakfast Will put his plan to the test. Prince was fed well, and with Frank and Allen to follow, Will leaped on his pet’s back, and gave him free rein—or, rather, free halter, since there was no bridle. The girls said they would take a walk around the island, looking for the saddle as they went. Prince, after a little hesitation, started off with Will on his back. The splendid animal headed for the lake shore, and for a moment Will was inclined to think that Prince was going to plunge in and swim to some other island or the mainland. But Prince was only thirsty, and, slaking that desire, he ambled along the shore for a mile or so, the two young men following. “Where can he be going?” asked Frank. “Just let him alone,” counseled Will. “He knows what he is about.” And so Prince did. He took a path he had evidently traveled many times before, to judge by the hoof-marks, and presently came to a swampy place at which Frank and Allen balked. “Wait here,” advised Will. “I’ll soon be back. This is near one end of the island. It must be here that Prince has his stable.” And so it proved. Splashing through the swamp, Prince ascended a little slope, pushed under some low tree branches that nearly brushed Will from his back, and came to a halt before a tumbled-down cabin, that was just about large enough for an improvised stable. Will leaped off, gave a look inside, and uttered a shout of joy, for there, trampled on and torn, broken and water-stained, was the saddle. A second later Will was kneeling before it, exploring the saddle pockets. “Here they are!” he cried, as he pulled out the missing papers. “I have them, fellows!” A hasty survey showed him that they were all there—somewhat stained and torn, to be sure, but as good as ever for the purpose intended.