"But it must have more wood in," decided Dick, as they sat about the campfire that night, eating a scanty ration which was served out. "We may encounter a storm, and the more wood we have in our craft the higher it will ride. Then we must build a sort of platform on which to store our food and water, and we'll also rig some lifelines, of the vines, to keep us from pitching overboard." "Right you are, my hearty! All regular and shipshape!" exclaimed Widdy. "We'll get away from this place, and catch those kidnappers yet, split my lee scuppers if we don't!" "And get my yacht back, too, I hope," added the young captain. "I'd like to know who has her." If Dick had been able to peer into the comfortable cabin of his yacht at that moment he would have been very much surprised at the sight which would have met his eyes. They renewed work on the raft next morning, after a more comfortable night spent in the bower than was their first. Other logs and saplings were added to the rude craft, and a platform was constructed out of driftwood, and pieces of the boxes in which the kidnappers had left food for the young Cuban. "There, that will keep our stuff dry for a while, anyhow," remarked Dick. "Now about taking some fresh water along; what would you advise, Widdy?" "Water's going to be our worst trouble," declared the old sailor. "But we've got quite a few tins that's had food in 'em. We can fill those, and by only taking a small sip when we're dry it may last us until we are picked up. If it doesn't----" He did not finish, but the boys knew what he meant--they would suffer terribly. For two days more they worked on the raft, for they knew their very lives would depend on its stability, and Dick would take no chances. They even made a sort of awning on it--a shelter from the sun--using old bags. Then a good-sized cask was luckily cast ashore by the tide, one morning, and that served admirably to hold a good supply of water. All this while a sharp lookout had been kept for passing vessels, but, though once or twice smoke from steamers, hull down on the horizon, had been seen, none approached the island, and the tattered signals fluttered desolately in the wind. But Dick and his marooned chums were too busy to give up hope. "If we only had more food I wouldn't worry so much," said the young millionaire, the night before they were to start off on the raft. "Our supply is getting lower, and, though we can take along a lot of clams, and maybe catch some fish, it's going to be mighty small eating for a while, fellows." "I had pretty good luck catching fish to-day," announced Beeby. "Maybe we can get a lot and smoke 'em!" "The very thing!" cried Dick. "We'll wait another day, and take along a supply of smoked fish." They crawled into the bower that night, and stretched out on beds of dry seaweed, wondering and fearing what the morrow would bring forth. CHAPTER XXIX THE RESCUE