was now seven--and climb the hill, where he was to signal across to
Dick Garrett, who would be watching directly opposite.

Then Jerry and Phil were to make all speed to Lost Island, landing
at the lower end. The Boy Scouts, and Dave and Frank, were to gather
as conspicuously as possible--a flaring camp fire would show their
intentions--and pretend that _they_ were about to embark for the
island.

That _ought_ to leave the lower end of the island unguarded for the
safe landing of Jerry and Phil. Once they were ashore, the dense
bushes and the darkness ought to be sufficient cover for their
search.

Little time had been lost, really, in making the plan, for the
Scouts had been bustling back and forth, building a camp fire and
preparing supper. Four of them had set up the tents, finishing the
task begun by all of them when Jerry and Phil set out on their first
trip to the island.

It was not a very fancy meal the boys sat down to. The food was
served on paper lunch plates, so there would be no dish-washing.
Each Scout carried knife, fork, spoon and tincup. There was no extra
"silverware" save the cook's big utensils. So the three outsiders
ate with fingers and pocketknives. A nice mess of perch had been
caught in a near-by creek, and Frank Willis, whose turn it was to
act as chef, had browned them most artistically. There were some
ash-baked potatoes, and a farmhouse close by had provided a generous
supply of buttermilk.