Where were the others? A great fear struck at him, catching him by the throat. If they had drowned! If Teddy was gone--floating face downward on the surface of the water, silent, inert, dead! A quick shiver passed over Roy’s frame, then he gritted his teeth. He _would_ not think of that! Teddy had surely escaped, as he himself had. Perhaps he had swum ashore and was even now looking for Roy. Teddy was a strong swimmer. And when the canoe had crashed, Teddy was in the far end. He probably had not touched the rock, but had swum directly for shore. Could he, too, be on this island? Hopefully, Roy threw back his head and called loudly Teddy’s name. There was no answer. A second time, then a third time he called. No welcome sound came back in return. But suppose his brother had been washed ashore as he had! Clenching his fists tightly, to withstand the pain of his injured ankle, Roy started a circuit of the island, for he must make a search. The island was not large, so the search was soon concluded. Roy was alone. If Teddy had gotten ashore, he must be on the mainland; but on which side? Their camp of the night before had been on the left bank. If Teddy had kept his bearings, he would, of course, head for that. As Roy remembered, the canoe had been about in the center of the river when it foundered, so that Teddy and the others might possibly be on the right shore. The pain in Roy’s ankle was still great, and the boy sat down and removed his shoe and sock. He saw that the limb was swollen, and, hopping to the water’s edge, he soaked his already damp sock in the stream and bound it tightly about the ankle. This should help reduce the swelling and lessen the irritating pain. The cut on his head was a small matter, he decided, and so gave it no attention other than to bathe it with his wet handkerchief. Now that the first sensation of uneasy wonderment had worn off, Roy began to realize that he was hungry. His firearms had gone down with the boat, so that even if there was game on the island he would have no means of capturing it. He searched his pockets, and thankfully his fingers closed upon his jackknife. This might be of some use. The knife was a heavy one and the blade long. Roy balanced it in the palm of his hand. Then, experimentally, he raised his hand over his head and threw. The blade bit into a tree some ten feet distant. “Haven’t lost the old eye,” he chuckled, then limped over and drew the knife out. “Haven’t done this since Teddy and I were kids. Golly, I’m glad I remember how to throw. Wonder if I’ve got any string in my pocket?” But this time his search was in vain. All he found besides the knife were two handkerchiefs and a buffalo nickel. He looked at the coin musingly. “You’re not much help out here,” he muttered, with a grin. “Can’t even buy a stamp with you. Well, maybe you’ll bring me luck. I sure need it. Back you go,” and he replaced the five-cent piece in his soggy pocket.