“Or maybe they have been searching for the treasure in here,” suggested Jack. “It’s possible,” admitted Tom. “Well, anyhow, let’s see what sort of a meal we can get, and then for a rest. I’m dead tired.” It was a very primitive supper that they managed to cook over a fire built in the cave. There was a natural ventilation to the place, so the smoke did not annoy them much. They warmed some canned roast beef in a battered skillet, opening the can with a jackknife. Coffee they made in the dented pot, and then they had to take turns eating, as there were only enough table utensils for two at a time. The table was a box in which the stuff had evidently been brought to the cave. “Oh, but I feel better now!” exclaimed Jack, with a contented sigh, when supper was over. “So do I, and I’ll feel better still when I find my boat,” came from Tom. “We’ll have another hunt for her in the morning,” suggested Bert. “And we may have good luck,” added Dick. “I think the finding of this cave and the food means that our luck will take a turn.” “It needs to,” said Tom grimly. For beds they cut spruce and hemlock boughs, spreading them out on the floor of the cave, and, though it was not like their comfortable cots, they slept fairly well, not being disturbed. After a breakfast, on what was left from the previous night, they held a conference. “What’s best to do?” asked Tom. “I don’t want to always be giving orders.” “Sure, you’re the camp-captain,” declared Jack. “We’ll listen to you. I should think you’d have to find the boat first, before we can do anything else. We can’t swim back to our camp, that’s certain.” “Well, if that’s the general opinion, we’ll have another try for the boat, walking along the lake shore,” agreed Tom. They set out, and retraced their route of the previous day, coming finally to the lake. As the place where the river entered was quite broad it was out of the question to swim it, or, rather, they did not like to risk it, in such unknown waters. So they followed the lake shore for a considerable distance farther than Tom and Bert had gone the previous evening. They climbed a high hill, that gave a good view of the lake, but, strain their eyes as they could, they had no glimpse of the _Tag_. “They’ve either got her well hidden, or else they have sunk her,” was Tom’s despairing comment. “Oh, maybe we’ll find her,” said Jack, more cheerfully. “Say, I’ve just thought of something!” exclaimed Bert. “What is it?” his chums asked him in a chorus. “It’s this! That old hermit must have some sort of a boat. He never could get on the other side of the lake, where we are camped, and over here again as quickly as he does without crossing in a boat. I believe he must have some sort of a craft hidden in the river near the mill.” Silence followed Bert’s advancement of his theory, and then Tom exclaimed: