"Good for you!" cried Dick. "Like chickens, eh? Well, we'll wait dinner and cook some now, and also take some cooked ones along on the raft. You're all right, Beeby, if you are fat. Where are they, and how many did you kill?" "Kill? I didn't kill any!" was the surprising answer. "I meant that I snapshotted 'em. I'll make a dandy picture! There must have been a hundred birds! I used my last film on 'em!" For an instant Dick looked at the fat cadet. The hope that had risen high in all their hearts was rudely dispelled. Beeby gazed about, trying to understand wherein he had offended, for the silence was ominous. "Throw him down, and stuff sand in his mouth!" cried Dick, at length. "The idea of telling us you have a whole lot of birds like chickens, and we about to eat some scraps of corned-beef, and cold clams, and then, when our mouths are all watering, you say you snapshotted 'em! Snapshotted 'em! You ought to be made to eat some fricasseed clam shells, Beeby." "Why--why, didn't you want me to take a picture of 'em?" asked the stout youth, blankly. "Take a picture of 'em? Why, in the name of the sacred cat, didn't you shoot some for dinner?" asked Dick. "I--I didn't have the rifle. But I'll go back and see if I can pot some. There are hundreds of 'em." "No, we'll have grub first, and then we'll see what we can do. It sounds good, and I guess, after all, you're entitled to a vote of thanks, Innis, for discovering them." Dick and Beeby went hunting that afternoon, and the young millionaire, who was a good shot with the rifle, managed to get a number of the plump birds. They were roasted, and furnished a good supper, while a quantity of the cooked fowl were put aboard the raft for future use. The next morning, bidding farewell to the desolate island, where they had been marooned for nearly a week, the little party floated the raft at high tide, got aboard, and, hoisting the rude sail, while Widdy steered with a sweep, which he had improvised from a sapling, and a board from a box, they set off--for where they did not know. There was a light wind, and the day was fair, and Widdy, who had all the instinct of an old salt, headed the raft, as well as he could, toward Cuba. They did not hope to reach it, or, rather, they hoped they would be picked up before having to sail so far. Of their voyage on the raft they talked for many years afterward, for it was a novel experience. At first, it was not so bad, for the sea was calm, and they even built a fire and cooked some fish which they caught. Senor Valdez volunteered to serve in the "galley," as Dick called it, the Cuban gentleman proving an expert chef, even with such rude facilities at his command. He and his son were jolly good companions, as well, for, now that they had each other, no hardships seemed too much for them. The raft, naturally, made slow progress, but to the boys anything was better than remaining on the lonely island, waiting for a vessel to take them off.